


Bea and Ben: or, A College of Wit-Crackers

by TheFledglingDM



Series: a college of wit-crackers [1]
Category: Much Ado About Nothing (2011), Much Ado About Nothing - Shakespeare
Genre: (Claudio -> Lucas), (it's weed), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bilingual Character(s), Clubbing, F/M, Mentions of Other Shakespeare Women/Characters, Name Changes, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Harassment, Taking on the Patriarchy, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2020-09-01 13:02:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 97,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20258518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFledglingDM/pseuds/TheFledglingDM
Summary: “Fancy seeing you here,” Ben said. His smirk said it was anything but – he, at least, had known about their living arrangements for the year.Bea counted to five again. “It’s one in the afternoon.”“Not my time,” Ben said, and he slurped his beer loudly. Even three floors down she could hear the rattle of the beer in the can through his straw.“Yes, true,” Bea said. She put a hand on her hip. “So, they let you back into the country, hm?”“Low blow,” Ben said cheerfully. “A lazy shot. But yes, I am here, yet again. You may lavish me with your post-summer tidings.”“I’m going to key your fucking car.”“I’ve missed you, too, Bea.”-Or, a modern college AU ofMuch Ado.





	1. Chapter 1

## 

Chapter 1

The beginning of the semester at Messina was a hectic time. In the four days between the dorms opening and classes starting, six thousand undergraduates (and like three grad students) descended upon the college town, moving into their dorms and off-campus houses and cluttering the various bars and clubs downtown. Everything the little hellions needed for life on campus – books, binders, pens, electronics, coffee, bedding, blankets, pepper spray, alcohol – was bought out of every store in the surrounding ten-mile radius. At least Beatrice thought as much as she grumpily got back into her car after failing to find the books she needed at her third bookstore.

“You know,” Her sister said, not looking up from her phone. She had slipped off her flip-flops and put her painted toes up on the dashboard, squeaking when Beatrice flicked her in the ankle to put them back on the floor (“I _just_ cleaned this, Hero.” “Six months ago isn’t _just_, Bea.”), “Amazon _is_ a thing.”

“I refuse,” Bea said loftily as she put on her sunglasses. Her hair was sticking to the back of her neck, and she pulled it up in a bun. Except whereas (blonde, pretty) Hero’s hair perfectly nailed that “messy bun chic” so famous on Instagram, Bea’s (brown, plain) hair more accurately could be described as a “bird’s nest.” It was a good thing Bea thrived on chaos.

“Even for the convenience?” Hero asked.

“Nothing convenient about those working conditions,” Bea said as she backed out.

“Fine, fine, I'll prep a guillotine,” Hero said with a sigh as she pulled up the next locally-owned bookstore on her GPS. “You’re going to turn right once you get out of the plaza.”

Fortunately, the next bookshop had the copies of _Eloquent Rage_ and _Rage Becomes Her_ that Bea needed for her Gender and Anger course (where she ran into her classmate, Katherina, and eventually needed to be dragged away by Hero when the two got distracted talking about their upcoming classes together that semester). Hero treated them to Starbucks and the two made their way back to their off-campus apartment.

“You know,” Hero said conversationally as they drove down the road. She had tucked her feet back up on the dashboard and Bea had given up trying to stop her. “I heard Pedro is going to be really close to our apartment.”

Her tone was carefully light, but Bea scowled over at her. “How long have you been sitting on this piece of information?”

“Since he signed the lease in June.”

“And you didn’t tell me until now _because_…?”

“Because Margaret and I needed a third person to sign the lease and we didn’t want you to drop out.”

Bea sighed. “You know I wouldn’t have done that. Just tell me the truth next time, yeah?”

“Maybe I wanted you to be surprised.”

“Surprised about what? We saw Pedro plenty this summer,” Bea said. “He’s our cousin.” Hero didn’t reply, which did not bode well for the rest of her news. Bea let out a huff of air through her nose. “Unless he’s not living _alone_, hmm?”

Hero mumbled something non-committal. Bea stopped the car at a red light just before their apartment complex, which gave her plenty of time to swivel her head and levy her sister with her second-best glare. “Hero.”

Hero didn’t look up from her phone. “Yeah?”

“If that little monster is living with Ped, I’m going to throw all your thongs in the dryer.”

Hero jerked her head up with a gasp. “You wouldn’t _dare_.”

“Fine. I wouldn’t. But I’ll key his car.”

“Bea, have you considered that maybe this rivalry thing you two have going on is a bit…beneath you?” Hero asked as the light turned green and Beatrice hit the gas.

“No,” Bea said loftily. Hero rolled her eyes.

“Fine. Be like that, then.”

“Like what?” Bea asked as she pulled into the parking lot and parked next to their building. Before Hero could answer, her attention was caught on a familiar-looking red 1988 Corolla. Bea sent the offensive vehicle her best glare, like it could react.

“You said _close by_. Not _in our freaking building_.”

Hero sent her a weak smile and threw her some jazz hands. “Surprise,” she said before rushing out of the car with a mischievous laugh.

Bea thought she had, at most, another few hours of peace. She told herself as much when she reached into the backseat to snag her purse and the reusable plastic bag holding her books. Except when she stood upright, her peace was interrupted by a familiar accent.

“Bea! Bea! Up here, Bea! Look up here!”

_Count to five, Beatrice,_ she told herself. She peered up, one hand over her eyes. On a balcony three floors (_oh, sonofabitch, we’re on the third floor aren’t we, Hero is dead to me after this, I swear to God, and aren’t those Margaret’s plants? If we’re next door neighbors I’m dropping out_) up stood a familiar man. He wore only a pair of shorts and sunglasses, and he was drinking a Guinness through a curly straw.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Ben said. His smirk said it was anything but – _he_, at least, had known about their living arrangements for the year.

Bea counted to five again. “It’s one in the afternoon.”

“Not my time,” Ben said, and he slurped his beer loudly. Even three floors down she could hear the rattle of the beer in the can through his straw.

“Yes, true,” Bea said. She put a hand on her hip. “So, they let you back into the country, hm?”

“Low blow,” Ben said cheerfully. “A lazy shot. But yes, I am here, yet again. You may lavish me with your post-summer tidings.”

“I’m going to key your fucking car.”

“I’ve missed you, too, Bea.” Ben folded his arms over the balcony, leaning over so she received the full brunt of his smug smile, crooking up farther on the right and revealing his dimples. Somehow he was already scruffy, his dark hair in disarray like he was three weeks behind one of his engineering projects. She could picture the way his eyes behind his sunglasses were wrinkled in amusement, expression knowing and familiar in a way that could only be described as _warm_. And – oh, yeah, he wasn’t wearing a shirt. She had noticed before, obviously, and she had seen him so before when Ped brought him along to their family’s summer parties (she had spilled half her sangria on her skirt the first time he casually whipped off his shirt in front of her, and Bea would declare until her dying day it was because he hit her arm with his shirt and not because she had been utterly unprepared for the planes of his back and his arms and _why is she thinking about this now when really he needed to trim that brown poodle he had growing on his chest_).

Bea flipped him off and went inside, Ben’s half-tipsy laughter echoing in her ears while she made her way up the stairs to the apartment.

Bea flung the door open, stomping inside. “Hero, where are you? I’m about to ruin your credit score and mix all your nail polishes together.”

“If you’re going to, can it wait until I’m finished?” Margaret asked, not looking up from where she was painting her nails on the floor of the living room. “I’ve got two more to go and then you may release your rage as you will. What’s got you so pissed, anyway?”

“She finally found out Pedro and Ben are going to be our neighbors this year,” Hero said. She was sitting cross-legged on the armchair. Margaret looked up in alarm.

“You didn’t tell her?”

“_You_ knew?” Bea asked. That did it; she stomped over to Hero and caught her younger sister in a headlock, grinding her knuckles down on Hero’s head in a legendary noogie. Hero let out an undignified squawk, arms flailing, coming dangerously close to knocking over her coffee and slapping Margaret in the face. Margaret’s roaring laughter mixed with Hero’s protestations mixed with Bea’s litany of colorful threats (“I am going to pour baking soda into your conditioner. I am going to replace your French vanilla coffee creamer with plain vanilla and I know you won’t know the difference. I am going to cut half an inch off of your shoelaces every week until you can’t tie them anymore.”). Finally, Bea decided she had made her suffer enough and let her go, flouncing onto the couch.

Margaret heaved a great sigh, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “You two are so funny.”

“Glad _you_ like it,” Hero huffed without much heat. She released her hair from its tie and let the blonde waved fan about her shoulders, rubbing at her head. But almost immediately she perked up. “Anyway. I’ve been trolling the event pages online and found out there’s a _great_ party going on at Florentine’s tonight.”

“You’re not twenty-one,” Bea reminded her, as if that had stopped anyone before.

“I just won’t order drinks,” Hero said innocently. Bea knew that meant that she was going to just accept the drinks men offered to buy for her and then dance away back to her friends.

“I’ll use my fake,” Margaret said, shrugging.

Bea sighed, not arguing. It had never stopped them before, and with her there, what could happen?

~

Bea’s phone buzzed while she was putting on her makeup for Florentine’s. She set down her eyeliner pen and picked it up to find a text from Pedro.

_wht time r u headin 2 florentine’s? hero told me u were going but idk when & she’s not responding_

Shortly followed by:

_we should get dinner. i haven’t seen u since July._

Bea grinned. She and her cousin were not particularly close as they grew up – their aunt, Elena, lived outside of New York City while the sisters’ mother, Ursula, lived just outside of Los Angeles. The few times they saw each other growing up was when they met in the middle at the lake house in Michigan during holidays and the occasional summer trip. Fortunately, the youth were able to grow closer when they all ended up attending the University of Messina in northern California. She replied, _I’m fine with that. Where are you thinking?_

She returned to her makeup, stopping again when Pedro replied, suggesting a local Mexican restaurant. He added, _also, do u remember lucas? He was doing this study abroad for all of last year but he’s back. i invited him too_

_K,_ Bea replied, adding, _should we carpool?_

_yh whatever we live in the same building,_ Pedro replied. Bea frowned; it looked like she was the last person to learn about their living arrangements. _i assume i’m taking ben_

_You assume right._

Pedro’s reply came almost immediately. _lololololol u kno u might be a lot happier if u just screwed him_

Bea almost gagged. She let her mascara brush go dry as she spent five minutes looking for a gif suitable for showing her disgust. She wasn’t positive, but she may have heard Pedro’s snorting laugh through the wall when she sent it through.

_Idc what you decide. Its funny 2 watch. Kk see u soon cuz. love u._

Bea set her phone down to charge as she finished her makeup. A few minutes later, Bea was interrupted yet again by Hero poking her head in the door.

“Hey, sis, we’re gonna pre-game. Want to join in?”

"Sure, I’ll take a couple shots and drive us to the restaurant,” Bea said dryly. Margaret chuckled from the other room.

“Fair point,” Hero conceded. She eyes Bea critically. “Is that what you’re wearing tonight?”

Bea lifted an eyebrow, looking down at herself. She may not have Hero’s looks, sense of style, or makeup skills (she still wondered if one of them was secretly adopted), but she had learned to be comfortable in her own skin. Her fashion sense might be generously called _eclectic_ – for the night she had decided to wear a crop top, her good overalls with the deep pockets, and platform heels (her converse sat by the door, waiting for her to get tired of sore feet ten minutes into dancing and change). Margaret poked her head in under Hero’s and her eyes went wide.

“_Mami,_ you look like a lesbian.”

“Thanks,” Bea said. “Maybe no one will bother me tonight, then.”

“It’s not bad. It’s just very specific. You’re still hot.”

“Being a lesbian and being hot aren’t exclusive things,” Bea said, her inner Gender and Women’s Studies major coming out. But she sighed, knowing that Margaret didn’t mean anything by it. “It’s fine, I know what you meant.”

Margaret winked at her. “No worries. Well, Hero and I are going to pack a flask so we can pre-game in the car.”

Bea rolled her eyes and spritzed on her perfume. Then she grabbed her keys, wallet, and shoes and left out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

## Chapter 2

Because Ben was not driving, he and Lucas were able to keep day-drinking while Pedro, the poor sod, had to stay sober until dinner. Ben popped open his second beer and scrolled aimlessly through his phone while Lucas swiped his way through Tinder, occasionally commenting on the profiles he saw but mostly wordlessly swiping left. Truth be told, Ben wasn’t sure what exactly Lucas was looking for.

“Look at this,” Lucas said, twisting around to show Ben a profile of a pretty redhead he had never seen before. He read off, “’I love coffee, long walks on the beach, and… you know.’ Winky face.”

Ben was not positive how he was supposed to respond to that. He managed, “Don’t we all.”

“Exactly!” Lucas said, which told Ben he had said something right, and he swiped left. A few seconds later, he laughed. “Man, I can’t believe some of the outfits these girls post themselves in on these dating apps. I mean, if they’re dressed like that, they shouldn’t have to worry about anything, you know? Makes you wonder what they’re missing in their personalities.”

“Can’t relate,” Ben said. “You couldn’t pay me enough to use one of those things.”

“Thirty dollars and a case of Guinness,” Pedro offered.

“For that,” Ben conceded, “I’ll _make_ one. But I’ll never match. I’ll just be single forever, thanks.”

“That hasn’t stopped you before, I recall,” Lucas said. He looked at a profile consideringly and swiped right. An “It’s a Match!” page popped up. Lucas dismissed it and kept on swiping.

“Sex is sex,” Ben said dismissively. “And I’m great at it, have no fear. But I…” he held up a hand in dramatic flourish, “Will never have another woman hold me down!”

“Coward,” Pedro said. “Get fucking topped.”

“Shut up,” Ben retorted, “What I mean is, I will remain single forever, and never give a woman my _heart._” He wrinkled his nose at the very thought.

“Yeah?” Pedro asked, looking up from his phone with a grin. “Never give your heart? To any woman?”

“Nope.”

“Not one? You can’t think of a single one?”

“I’d rather die,” Ben said.

“Then perish,” Lucas and Ped said at the same time. They laughed, slapping each other’s hands in a high-five while Ben rolled his eyes. Pedro went on, “If that’s the case, you’re dead already, Ben.”

“I already am, on the inside,” Ben said.

“Wow. Edgy,” Lucas muttered. He and Pedro exchanged a look that Ben couldn’t be bothered to examine.

“In any case,” Ben said, glancing at the clock. “We should get going, I’m starving.”

“We have a few,” Lucas said. Suddenly he sat up, still staring at his phone. “Oh, shit.”

“What?” Pedro and Lucas asked. 

“This girl,” Lucas said, still staring at his phone. “She’s _super_ hot. Like, break-the-scale on a one-to-ten scale.”

“I’m sure she has a great personality, too” Ben muttered drolly. 

“Gonna superlike, and - aha! A match,” Lucas said, proudly turning his camera to face Ben and Pedro.

It took a second for Ben’s eyes to adjust to the small screen - the little circle showing Lucas’s picture of him on his parents’ boat off Cape Cod, and a photo of a blonde woman in profile, her curly blonde hair done up over her head. She was wearing sunglasses, a plain black tank top, and shorts, standing on a dock at the end of a pier.

_Hang on,_ Ben thought, _I know that lake._ He was even sure he saw himself and Pedro fishing and Bea suntanning on the shore in the background.

“Hero?” Pedro asked, dismayed, “My _cousin?”_

Ben walked to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a shot.

~

Dinner had been an absolute riot: fortunately, they were close enough to Florentine’s that they could park on the street and walk to both locations, which meant that those in the group who were of age were able to get good and tipsy. Margaret had the opportunity to speak to the waitress for a few minutes on the woman’s break, which was excellent until Margaret turned back to the table to ask if they wanted to split fajitas in Spanish. A single glance had been enough for Lucas and Hero to realize they had, indeed, matched on Tinder, and they spent most of the meal sitting at their end of the table deep in conversation. Ben heard from truly cringe-worthy lines that he asked Lucas if he had googled in the bathroom; from Lucas’s glare, he had got it in one. (Bea had snorted into her margarita to hide her laughter at that, he thought, and the observation made him irrationally proud in a way he put down to him being delightful and irresistible). He had a few verbal sparring matches with Bea as the rest of the table looked on. Finally, around nine-thirty or so, they made their way down the street to Florentine’s.

It was not the only bar on the street, and many establishments had their windows and patios open to the warm evening air. Students laughed, drank, danced, smoked, and chatted as they made the most of their last free evenings before classes started again. Ben hadn’t been to Florentine’s in a few years, but the bar looked exactly as he remembered it: the same sticky wooden floors and bar top, the same vinyl dance floor, the same neon dance lights. He wondered if the peanuts in the bowls on the tables had been changed out in the two years since he’d last been there.

The girls peeled off on their own once they got inside, heading straight to the bar in a gaggle of laughter. Ben stood off to the side with Pedro and Lucas; the former of whom tried to chat up any woman who came within five feet of him, the latter watching Hero wistfully across the bar. Ben kept his arms folded over his chest as he nursed his first beer, then his second, hovering awkwardly between his two friends and sitting somewhere on the line between tipsy and drunk.

“Isn’t she gorgeous?” Lucas’s half-yell over the music cut through Ben’s nonexistent train of thought. He looked around, confused.

“Who?” He asked before he could stop himself.

“Hero!” Lucas cried. His eyes were glazed over from the alcohol and the fact that he hadn’t blinked in the past twenty minutes. “I haven’t seen someone as hot as she is for a while. And I’m not the only one who’s noticed.”

“Yeah?” Ben asked casually, looking at Hero. She was at the bar accepting a drink from someone he vaguely recognized from one of his physics classes sophomore year. With a cheery wave, she accepted the cocktail and flounced back to her friends. “She’s a bit young for my tastes.”

“Nah,” Lucas said. “She seems mature. Plus, I’m young at heart. And I know I have more game than any of these losers trying to chat her up. Now excuse me, Ben – I’m off to show her what a real man looks like.”

“Inspiring,” Ben said.

He set his empty beer on the table and made his way into Hero’s group of friends. Ben rolled his eyes as Lucas leaned down to say something in her ear that made Hero’s eyes go wide and make her giggle. Hero passed her half-empty drink to Margaret and let Lucas lead her into the throng of dancers. Then there was a lot of touching and bumping and grinding that made Ben want to gag from watching it (and feel weird, but it’s not like he was doing anything else).

He knocked back the beer and felt how the world was pleasantly spinning after his beers during the day, his tequila at dinner, and the three he’s had since he walked in the door (Ben’s not usually this much of a drinker, but those Scottish genes meant that he just held his alcohol better than his American friends). Someone blew a cloud of smoke that smelled suspiciously like marijuanna in his face and he waved it off irritably.

The music changed to something jaunty, piano and bass and drums, and across the dance floor he heard a general yell of delight. Over the din he heard a familiar shout of, “Oh, _fuck yeah!”___

Bemused, Ben watched as Bea meandered her way onto the dance floor. In one hand she held her three-quarters empty cocktail; the other hand was swaying in the air in time with her hips as she mouthed the words. She was well and truly drunk (_Wasn’t she a driver?_ Ben thought as a grin started to curl across his face), one of her overall straps undone and tucked into her pants to keep any swaying fabric from hitting any bystanders.

Here’s the thing about Bea, Ben thought to himself – for all that she was a holier-than-thou, snarky harpy, she was the most confident woman he had ever come across. She had no compunctions or hesitation about the space that she took up in the world or on the dance floor – and, indeed, she was securing a wide section of the dance floor for herself with her _horrendous,_ flailing dancing.

_I need to make fun of her for this,_ Ben thought to himself as he made his way to the dance floor. He told her as much when he made his way into her orbit.

“You’re terrible at this,” He said over the din.

Bea didn’t even stop her slow shimmy that was completely off-beat. “Better than standing like a miserable lout on the wall all night.”

Ben didn’t have a good retort for that. Instead he settled for, “What song is this that’s got you Americans so, as you like to say, lit?”

Bea laughed, loud and boisterous and unrestrained. “It’s the Jackson Five.”

“Michael Jackson had five kids?”

“No, it’s a young Michael Jackson – Why do you smell like weed? Fuck it, I’m here to have fun,” Bea said, and she and the rest of the dance floor broke into the chorus. Never one to let Bea have any fun unless he could ruin it, Ben threw himself full-body into the music with the handful of moves he remembered from high school dances. He had moved onto the “shopping cart” when he caught Bea’s eye again. She let out a completely undignified cackle.

“You look ridiculous.”

“Yeah? Do I? Because you’ve been doing _this_ –” Ben lifted his hands above his head in a poor copy of the full-hip shimmy Bea had been doing. “-So I think you have no feet to stand on, my lady.”

Bea blinked up at him at the _my lady_ bit. It was the closest he had ever come to using a term of endearment towards her. Generally he stuck with her name or _hey, you._ But she was good enough to let it go with a mere shrug and keep dancing in their impromptu, drunken, equally terrible dance-off, full of witless one-liners and Bea’s terrible singing. It wasn’t until the bridge that he realized his cheeks were sore because he was grinning like a loon, laughing and stumbling through lyrics he didn’t know.

Someone knocked into Bea, causing her to trip towards Ben. He caught her arms on autopilot, wincing as the icy remnants of her drink sloshed down his front, soaking his shirt.

“Fucking lush,” He muttered under his breath without any heat. Bea still seemed to hear him, however, and she looked up at him shrewdly. Then her face broke into a smile and she _laughed,_ her face transforming into laugh lines around her eyes, her ponytail a wild mess on her head, face shining with sweat, lipstick slightly smeared around her mouth, and she smelled like something floral and fruity, like lilacs and blueberries, and –

_Oh,_ Ben realized, his hands tightening reflexively on her biceps to keep her upright. Something in his chest expanded as he looked down at her. _I really did miss you._

“Whoops,” Bea said. She put her hands on his chest to nudge him back. “My bad. _Don’t,”_ she hovered a finger in his face, inches from his nose. “Don’t tell anyone I did that.”

“Don’t tell anyone I caught you. I have a reputation to maintain,” Ben replied. His mouth was dry as he looked down into her hazel eyes.

“What, as a wallflower at parties?” Bea asked. “Ped took care of that.” She pointed off the dance floor, and Ben looked to the side to see Pedro with his phone out. He quickly pocketed it and sent Ben his best shit-eating smile. Bea added, “Actually, I want it gone, too. Go take care of that, will you?”

Bea took a sip of her drink and made a face and the watered-down cocktail. “Ugh, I suppose that’s my sign to stop for the night. I’m off to fetch Hero and Margaret to see how much longer they want to be out for.”

“You’re not going to drive, are you?” Ben found himself asking. Bea snorted.

“What are you, my mother? No, of course not. I’ll take an Uber.” She sent him a friendly middle finger in goodbye and half-sashayed, half-swayed away across the bar to where Margaret was texting and where Hero and Lucas were making out in the corner.

Ben hardly noticed Pedro sidling up to him. “You two looked cozy.”

“Cozy as a hellhound,” Ben said distantly. “Ready to go?”

“What, Bea stops giving you attention and you want to leave?” Pedro teased. Ben rolled his eyes.

“No, because I got here yesterday and my body still thinks that it’s eight hours later than it is. So while you have a great time until one, my body thinks I’ve just pulled an all-nighter.”

“Sucks,” Pedro said without much sympathy. “I think Lucas and I are going to stay here a bit longer, but you’re welcome to go home. I’m going to go do some body shots.”

And Pedro left Ben standing on the side of the dance floor with the beginnings of an exhaustion headache.

Ultimately, Ben ended up taking an Uber home with Hero and Bea. Margaret had found someone to spend the night with, as she had delightfully informed her roommates while the man in question hung over her like an octopus. The three of them were too tired for much conversation, so fortunately they were able to make it home with little bickering or bloodshed. They went their separate ways after the elevator, the girls going into the door immediately to the elevator’s left and Ben peeling right.

The apartment that he would be sharing with Pedro and Lucas for the upcoming year was still full of half-unpacked boxes, most of which belonged to Ben that he had gotten out of storage earlier that day. His room was still a mess of suitcases and boxes, only his bedding and Scottish flag hanging above the wall showing signs of life in the room. Wearily, he removed his shirt, but as much as he wanted to face-plant into the bed, the part of his brain that wasn’t drunk and stupid told him that if he didn’t have water, he would wake up completely miserable.

He padded out to the kitchen, looking for the least-dusty glass he could find and filling it from the sink. He meandered out to the balcony to sit in the chair that he had claimed for himself earlier in the day. When he pulled out his phone, he saw he had two missed text messages from Pedro.

_see, this is what i meant by cozy. get your head out your ass bruv_

Ben’s first instinct was to tell Pedro that he didn’t get to use British slang, especially to his Scottish friend. Then he saw the second text was a picture from when he had been half-supporting Bea on the dancefloor. She was looking up at him, him down at her, both of their faces lit up pink in the neon lights of Florentine’s. The light caught on the curve of her nose and chin, the slope of her cheekbone, the arch of her brow, the glow of her teeth as she beamed up at him. Worse yet, he was making the same _dopey_ face and had the same _horrifying_ grin, and Ben wanted to blame it all on the alcohol. He wanted to chuck his phone, or reply to Pedro to quit taking the piss, or delete the photo.

Instead, he saved it to his home screen. Then he chugged the water, hoping that it would restore his sense, because he did _not_ like Bea, and he did _not_ want her face on his phone when he was going to be seeing it enough with them living next door.

He did not delete the picture.


	3. Chapter 3

## Chapter 3

Bea did not need to do any work, strictly speaking. Classes didn’t even begin for another two days. But she had spent the summer procrastinating on her senior thesis proposal, which was why she was sitting cross-legged in her new favorite armchair in the living room skimming through her new books for the semester. She was reading the introduction to _Rage Becomes Her,_ highlighting especially good quotes and writing observations in the margins. Hero was brushing out her hair, head tilted toward the light that streamed in from their balcony and flouting the reddish hickey marks on her neck. Margaret was laying face-first into her pillow while Hero gave them the play-by-play of her dance and makeout session with Lucas last night.

“And like, I still have this love-hate relationship with hickeys, you know?” Hero was saying. “Like, if you like them and marking and all that, you go, girl! And they’re not _not_ fun when they’re happening. But then the next day they’re sore and I just hate how they look. Plus I think they really go back to this idea of ownership and marking your territory. Which I don’t think Lucas was doing! He seemed like such a gentleman...”

Bea wrote down _gender norms in sex acts_ on her legal pad of paper titled _Senior Thesis Ideas._

“You need a cold spoon, _mami,”_ Margaret said blearily. “Anyone want the play-by-play of my wild sex night?”

“Hell yeah!” Hero squeaked, making Margaret wince. Bea added _group bonding via explicit conversations_ to her list.

Despite her hangover, Margaret gave them a thoroughly raunchy play-by-play of her night with Rafael, a fellow junior who apparently gave her a wild ride in his car before dropping her off around two. It was perfectly timed and comedic, given Margaret’s major was in journalism. She always knew how to spin a good story.

“What about you, Bea?” Hero asked. Margaret had depleted what little stamina she had left and was back to laying face-first on the couch. She mumbled something showing her assent at this line of questioning.

“What about me? I got wasted, made a fool of myself dancing, and we went home. Shit, I gotta get my car today,” Bea remembered. That was a problem for after coffee, she decided.

“Boring,” Hero said.

“What about Ben? You two were dancing up on each other.”

“What?” Bea blurted, looking up, her tone ratcheting up two octaves. “No we weren’t. I danced _near_ him. But a whole lot better. It was a dance-off. But we weren’t dancing _on_ each other. Not at all. _Ew.”_

“The lady doth protest, something, something, I think, therefore I am…” Margaret mumbled into the pillow.

“Anyway,” Bea said, looking up from her book, tapping her highlighter on her chin and not seeming to notice she was covering her chin with neon-orange slashes. “The thing about Ben –”

Margaret groaned into her pillow. “If you’re going to keep talking about him, can you at least get me more alcohol? This hangover is killing me.”

“No,” Beatrice said. “The alcohol is why your head is killing you.”

“Coffee, then.”

Hero laughed, pouring a cup of coffee from the carafe and gently setting it down next to her roommate’s head. Margaret sat up, one hand still over her eyes, and gently sipped. She sighed in relief. “Thank you, my Hero.”

Hero laughed, sitting on the ground cross-legged. “You’re welcome. You were saying, Bea?”

“I hate him,” Bea announced. “And why don’t I get coffee?”

“Because you’re not dying of a hangover, and I like Margaret better. Make it yourself.”

Bea stuck her tongue out at her sister and stood up to make herself a cup, adding liberal amounts of milk and a splash of cinnamon. She grabbed some ice out of the freezer and some Advil, dropping both on the coffee table next to her roommates and making her way out to the balcony. She put on her sunglasses, stretching out her legs so they rested atop the railing and soaking in the sun.

Bea leaned back in her chair and let out a huff of air. Her phone buzzed, and she looked at the incoming text from Pedro.

_lol ok bee 😉 he’s not as bad as u think_

Bea frowned, not remembering what this was talking about. She scrolled back up and was forcibly reminded by a photo series of her and Ben at Florentine’s last night – blurry shots of them dancing, both of their figures unfocused messes of dark hair, and one still of when someone knocked her into him and he caught her. Bea had told Ped _wtf creep, stop taking pics of people w/o their consent_ and spent the rest of the night staring at the picture.

Wait. She unlocked her phone again and almost yelped when she saw that the idiot fool who had occupied her brain around her third cocktail had set the picture as her home screen. She was about to open her settings and change it when she heard Ben’s annoying accent.

“Christ, Bea, you’re already working?”

Bea jumped, almost throwing her phone over the railing. She caught it and sent him a glare. “Mind your own business.”

“Shan’t,” Ben said, leaning against the railing. Their balconies were actually quite close together; he was perhaps a foot away from her spot as he hovered, grinning into his coffee cup. “The others are all asleep and I’m bored.”

“I’m not a side show.”

“No, Bea, you’re the entire circus,” Ben said. His head tilted. “Ooh, what’s this?”

Before Bea could react, Ben leaned over the railing, almost toppling to his death three floors below, and snatched her writing pad. Aloud he read, “Senior thesis ideas.” He looked back at her. “Really? Classes don’t start for another two days.”

“My proposal is due in two weeks!” Bea snapped, standing upright and trying to snatch it back from him. Ben held it high over his head like the fourteen-year-old boy he was, dancing away from her and reading aloud: “‘Senior Thesis Ideas: Gender, the media, and video games’ – real unique, that’s new – ‘masculinity and video games; gender norms in sex acts; group bonding via explicit conversation’ – ooh, _Bea,_ tell me more, you’re much raunchier than I ever gave you credit for –”

“I will push you over this ledge,” Bea said furiously. “Quit being an absolute dickhead and give that back. I know it’s not as _prestigious_ and _elite_ as your fancy little bridges made with toothpicks, but it’s necessary to study the culture that we live in to parse apart its systemic inequalities and why am I telling you this?”

“No idea,” Ben said. He read on, “‘Depictions of domestic violence and sexual assault in the media?’ You know, that one actually appeals to my pea-sized, Neanderthal man brain.”

Bea stopped, her hand still in the air and still leaning over the railing. She put her hand on the railing of his balcony. “I swear to God, if you’re making fun of me –”

“I’m not,” Ben interrupted. For a moment his expression was uncharacteristically serious, but then the tension was broken with another shit-eating grin. “I love media. Love those shows and movies. Sometimes I even listen to a song.”

“You’re an asshole. I just had this thought watching _Grey’s_ and – you know what? Fuck it. I’m not going to tell you about my work to have you mock it,” Bea said, and she snatched the pad back, holding it to her chest. “I get that enough during the year.”

Ben looked, briefly, speechless. If she weren’t slightly hungover and pissed at him, she would have marked this day on her calendar as _Finally Made Ben Shut the Fuck Up_ day, complete with emojis and cake. But instead she just looked at him and waited for him to turn his brain back on.

“Is it that bad?” Ben asked. “With – with people making fun of your major?”

“Oh, like you haven’t heard it,” Bea said.

“I hear it, yeah,” Ben said, nettled. “But I never thought anyone said it to your face.”

“Of course they do,” Bea replied. “Little digs at whether I’d find a job, or insinuating I’m not going to live a worthwhile life because I won’t make six figures a year in this field. Like I’m not smart because my life doesn’t revolve around projects and data and math and building things to find the answers I need. Or like gender and women’s studies is a useless field, not seeming to get the irony of the mere fact that they have those opinions is why it’s necessary.” She let out a huff of air.

“I never thought you gave a damn what other people thought,” Ben said.

“I don’t,” Bea said automatically. Then she sighed. “Or, I do. I’m confident in myself, usually. But sometimes those digs sting. And then I lash out with the full brunt of my intelligence and logic, and I’m branded a harpy. I’m hysterical if I show emotion, and I’m a robot if I don’t. Either way I lose.” Bea shrugged. “But it’s not a game I want to play anymore. So I disengage from it.”

“I could never imagine you being affected by anything,” Ben said.

Bea braced herself to snap, to argue against whatever came after that statement, but nothing came. Instead Ben was looking at her with that oddly steadfast expression. Bea looked down at her toes, her thoughts unsteady under his scrutiny.

“I don’t know if you’re making fun of me,” She admitted, “But I appreciate that nevertheless.” She stepped back. “I’m... going to get my car from Florentine’s.”

Ben nodded. Bea went inside to change out of her pajamas and into her running shorts and a tank top. Once outside the building, she pulled out her phone to put on her music and found that picture Pedro had sent of Ben and her. Her fingers hesitated over the settings button, looking at his flyaway hair, his smile, his eyes. Bea wasn’t quite sure she had ever been looked at like that before.

Bea did not delete the photo.

~

The semester started as it always did – a slow jog that suddenly became a sprint somewhere around the middle of September. In what felt like overnight, Bea went from almost nodding off over her syllabus to voraciously reading, writing, and researching as she finished her thesis proposal. She had ultimately decided to pursue the thesis about sexual assault in the media after she sat through Hero and Margaret’s binge of _Riverdale._ She was still waiting to hear back from her adviser.

Bea sipped her coffee and readjusted her legs under her. The night was comfortably warm, the sun setting over the mountains to the west. A few feet away, Margaret was carefully watering and pruning her plants, singing along to Selena blasting in her earbuds and dancing.

“Bea, can you pass me the – uh, shit, _las tijeras,_ right there, no, no, _allí, allí –”_

“Uh,” Bea said, looking blankly into the small bucket where Margaret kept her things, her four years of high school French completely failing her here. She pulled out a spade, a small bag of fertilizer, a smaller bag of weed, and a spray bottle before Ben’s voice suddenly piped up.

“She means the scissors,” he said, leaning on the railing. Bea shot him a look and retrieved the scissors for Margaret.

“Thanks,” Margaret said. She tapped her nose, looking thoughtfully up at Ben. _“Scissors._ Yes, that’s the word. Never knew you knew any Spanish.”

“I’m a man of many talents, Margaret,” Ben said.

“Picking your toes with your teeth isn’t a talent,” Bea said without looking up from her chapter.

“No, but picking my teeth with my toes is,” Ben replied before cackling unattractively at his own joke. Bea made a sound of disgust and took a sip of her coffee. He lifted a brow at her. “Coffee at this hour? That’ll keep you up all night.”

He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. Bea sighed like the weight of the world rested on her shoulders.

“I have work to do, you lech,” Bea said dismissively while Margaret sniggered into a pot of marigolds.

“It’s a sad life we lead,” Ben said, throwing himself into the lawn chair that sat on the balcony and opening his computer.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bea asked. Ben glanced up.

“Homework,” he said innocently. “It’s my senior year. I’m a studious boy.”

Bea snorted. Margaret giggled into her flowers and stood upright holding a freshly cut bunch in her hands. “I’ll leave you to it,” she said. She tucked one behind Bea’s ear and went inside, quietly shutting the door behind her.

Bea returned to her book and for about half an hour, the air was quiet with only the sounds of traffic below, her turning pages, and the clattering typing of Ben’s fingers over his keyboard. It wasn’t quite companionable, but it was near enough to it that Bea lowered her metaphorical hackles and focused on her book.

“What are you reading?” Ben asked when Bea was just deciding that she had ruined her eyesight squinting in the dark long enough.

“Virginia Woolf,” Bea said, turning a page.

“That’s terrifying.” Ben quipped, and Bea looked up. At his raised eyebrow, she let out a laugh.

“Was that a _Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf_ reference?” She asked.

“No, I’m afraid of books,” Ben said. “Yes, it’s a reference. I haven’t seen it, or read it, so don’t ask me about the themes or the wordplay or the cinnamon-tography-”

“Oh, I haven’t seen it, either,” Bea said. Her eyes were starting to ache from the strain and she reached up, wiping them blearily. “I’m more interested in our culture things than feminist theory. I should have double-majored in Anthro.”

“So why not start now?” Ben asked. He set his computer aside and stood up, flicking on a light set above the sliding door. It was angled such that it bathed not only his balcony, but half of hers where Bea sat. It immediately made it easier to read her chapter of _A Room of One’s Own._

“Interests change, I guess,” she said. “And adding a new major this late would have meant at least another year of school. And I’m ready to move on to the next chapter.” She unspooled her legs and stood up, tucking her book under her arm and clutching her mug in her hands. “Why do you study engineering?”

“I love to build bridges with toothpicks,” Ben said. He was grinning up at her, but the smile did not quite match his eyes. “I plan to build the world’s first usable bridge of toothpicks.”

“I’m not an engineer, but I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Then why do we learn with them?” Ben asked. Bea bit back a laugh that wasn’t mocking for once.

“This isn’t going to become a thing, yeah?” She asked him. “Coming out here and working and talking and not hating each other?”

Ben hesitated, looking up at her. Bea held her breath. He smirked. “No, Bea. I don’t think we’ll need to worry about that.”


	4. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The peanut gallery gets high and comes up with a completely unnecessary plan.
> 
> CW for weed use.

## Interlude

## 

Except it did become a thing.

But it was a thing with a small “t,” so Bea didn’t stress it. She didn’t exactly have any legs to stand on demanding a man not to use part of his own house, and while she knew she was a bit of a bitch she didn’t think she was quite that unreasonable. So as September faded into October, Bea’s nights on the balcony were more often than not interrupted by Ben swaggering outside to do his homework. As the semester wore on and night fell earlier and earlier, she stopped having to ask him to turn on the balcony light.

It became such a part of her routine that she actually was taken aback when she stepped onto the balcony one Friday night to find Hero and Margaret already there. They were chatting amiably with Pedro and Lucas. Lucas was reaching over the balcony to hold Hero’s hand instead of coming over like a normal person, and Pedro and Margaret were chatting in Spanish while Margaret watered her plants. Margaret looked up from her spot squatting beside her flowers and beamed.

_“¡Buenas noches! ¿Quieres algo? Están_ \- oh, fuck,”” she said, realizing she had forgotten to switch over when Bea stared at her blankly. “Want some flowers?”

“Sure,” Bea said, accepting a fresh bunch. She tied a bloom back into her ponytail, matching the flower Hero had tucked behind her ear.

“Also, we’re gonna smoke. Do you want some?” Margaret asked.

“You know I suck at it,” Bea said.

“Yeah, that’s why it’s fun to watch you try,” Pedro said from his balcony. Lucas sent her a wave and went back to leaning across their balconies to talk to Hero.

Bea sighed. “Okay, fine, fine. I’ll entertain you all by gagging into Margaret’s tomatoes.”

“Don’t, it’ll kill them,” Margaret said casually as she pulled the small bag out of its hiding place. She sprinkled it onto the rolling paper and started to hand-roll the joint.

Bea shrugged as Ben poked his head out onto the balcony double-fisting Guinness. “Ooh, crowded out here. Party time?”

“Not anymore,” Bea said. Ben grinned over at her.

“Feeling cranky, Bea? That’s okay, we’ll carry on in your stead.” He drank out of his opened beer and offered the other can to Pedro (who shook his head and lifted his own Modelo) and Lucas (who shook his head and lifted the glass of cheap sangria he was sharing with Hero). With a shrug, Ben held up the can to Bea. She nodded, and Ben tossed the can across the balcony to her.

Bea popped the lid and took a sip, grimacing. “Ugh, I forgot I hated beer.”

She took another sip. Ben grinned at her before turning to Margaret. “Mind if I hop in on that?”

“No, don’t,” Lucas said lightly. “You’re annoying enough now.”

“Says the man who doesn’t pick up his dishes,” Ben said lightly. Lucas sent Ben a smile that was much tighter-lipped than before. Pedro sensed the rising tension and pulled out a lighter. “Shall we?”

Margaret grinned, accepting the lighter. While she lit the blunt, Bea caught Ben’s eye, raising an eyebrow at his attitude with Lucas. Ben lifted his eyes skyward, a droll smirk crossing his lips before turning to Pedro to accept the blunt.

Hero was already at the giggly stage when Bea finally got hold of the blunt (not that she particularly wanted it - she let it go around twice before reaching out for it). She held it in her hands, inhaling and then coughing over the heady sickly-sweetness of the smoke. She passed the blunt to Pedro and took a sip of the beer to get the taste of smoke out of her mouth. The mix of flavors almost made her gag again.

"There. I've _tried._ Now I'm going to go inside where I can breathe and waste this meager high on watching Teletubbies or something."

"Same, but with porn," Ben said, standing up and stretching. His shirt rode up over his hips, and it took Bea an extra few seconds to connect the thoughts of _skin_ and _look away._

"Teletubbie porn? You sick bastard,” She said, stumbling her way inside. The world was pleasantly fuzzy around the edges, at complete odds with the lingering taste in her mouth. Suddenly all she wanted was a toothbrush and toothpaste. And oddly, salt and vinegar chips. Maybe they needed to make salt and vinegar-flavored toothpaste. Or mint-flavored chips. Ben’s accent, thicker than usual with the beer and weed, cut through her thoughts.

_“I’m_ sick? You’re the one who said it,” Ben said. “Gross.”

Bea sent him a middle-finger that Ben returned. As one, they made their way into their respective apartments and slid the doors closed behind them.

Margaret took another hit, passing the joint to Pedro and leaning back in her chair. “Peace at last.”

“I’ll say,” Lucas said. He held Hero’s hand through the bars in the balcony. “You’re absolutely positive they’ve never hooked up?”

“Absolutely,” Pedro said. “We’d never hear the end of it from him. Or they’d never speak to each other again.”

“Maybe they should,” Hero said. She twirled a curl of hair around her finger over and over, staring thoughtfully into the middle distance. “Hook up, I mean.”

“Oof, bad idea,” Margaret said immediately, “They’d be going at it for the rest of the year.”

“And why is that bad?” Hero asked.

“Because we _live_ with them,” Margaret said.

“And _we_ share a wall,” Lucas added.

“That hasn’t stopped _you,”_ Pedro said. Lucas shot him a dirty look, too.

“But they’d be good together, I always thought,” Hero said.

“Since when?” Margaret asked.

“I don’t know,” Hero mused. She looked over at Pedro. “When she was texting me her freshman year and the only guy that came up more than, like, twice was Ben.”

“Yeah, but she wasn’t exactly complimentary, yeah?” Pedro asked. He lay his head back in his deck chair, looking at the stars. He laughed in memory. “Man, they really got into it back then. I thought they really didn’t like each other, but they kept coming back.”

“They’ve never been actually _mean_ to each other, though,” Margaret mused. She was sitting on the ground, her back against the railing and tanned legs stretching out in front of her. “They’ve bickered and bantered, but they never seem upset by it. I think they like it.”

“That’s ‘cause it’s _foreplay,”_ Pedro said, winking down at Margaret. She laughed.

“Three years of foreplay? They gotta be wound up tight.”

“Have either of them ever dated anyone else?” Lucas asked.

“They’ve both been in a couple of short-term relationships, had some hookups,” Hero said. “But I know none of Bea’s even made it to the meet-the-parents stage, even when our parents came to visit.”

“Ben’s never brought a girl home to his mom,” Pedro said. “Which, being a continent and an ocean away, would be difficult. But the idea remains.”

“So, what? We hook them up?” Lucas asked. “Stick them in a closet?”

“That’s so middle school,” Margaret said, laughing. “Not that it wouldn’t be entertaining. But don’t you think they’ll come together on their own?”

“What’s the fun in that?” Lucas asked.

“It’d be healthier,” Margaret said. “More organic. More normal.”

“Yeah, but with this setup? Bantering neighbors? It’s like an 80s romcom. We gotta work with this,” Lucas said.

“What if we just...talk?” Hero suggested. She was still slowly curling her hair around her finger. The loose stands that were slowly escaping her ponytail were starting to resemble a Shirley Temple bob. “We know they sit out here and do work. Why don’t we just...sit? And talk? About the things we know and see. Margaret and I talk about how we see the way Ben acts around her. You two talk about the way Bea acts around _him._ It’s still organic, but it’s a...nudge. A gentle nudge. A gentle little nudge-nudge.” She giggled to herself.

“You know,” Lucas mused, “That’s actually a really good idea.”

Margaret snorted. “Hero’s a physics major. She’s had a few.”

Hero beamed. “I’m the only non-grad TA in the astrophysics department.”

“I know, _cariña,”_ Margaret said, tapping her foot on Hero’s knee. Hero looked up at the stars, beaming.

“You can see some of the stars tonight! With the light pollution from the town and San Francisco in the distance, we don’t normally get to see much, but I can make out Aquarius, and some of Pegasus, there, and maybe, there, that’s Cepheus-”

“Weed makes you chatty,” Lucas observed, talking over Hero. Hero hesitated for a moment, but then carried on telling Margaret the history and mythology of Cepheus, the King. They passed the rest of their high listening to Hero telling the tale of Cepheus and Cassiopeia, only stopping when Margaret could no longer handle the way her neck was cramping looking up, Pedro’s dozing turned to full-on snoring, and Lucas’s phone died in the middle of his game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops i made lucas more of a douche than i intended


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thing 1 and Thing 2 send Ben into a tailspin, and all Bea wants to do is watch _Grey's_ and eat dinner in peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay - i was at a conference 2 weeks ago and that sapped me of the time/energy to write. 
> 
> enjoy!

## 

Chapter Four

Ben lifted a t-shirt off the floor and sniffed it before pulling away with a grimace. He wasn’t sure why, but somehow his laundry went from empty to full in the blink of an eye (or in the steady passage of time that seemed to quicken to lightning-pace as the semester kicked up). So now here he was on a Friday night, picking up the clothes strewn all over his floor to do laundry down in the basement.

_A wild Friday night_, Ben thought to himself as he grabbed his detergent and computer to work downstairs while he waited. His mother’s voice echoed in the back of his head: _“We don’t pay for this for you to party and chase girls, my love.”_

No, that wasn’t why Ben worked in bars and cleaned and worked himself exhausted in the summers to pay for this degree. It was so he could get his mother that apartment with the garden on the balcony she’d always wanted.

On reflex, Ben looked out the sliding glass door. The seat that Bea generally sat in was empty, and Pedro and Lucas were sitting together on the balcony, their voices drifting in through the open door.

“Yeah, Hero was telling me she saw Bea’s playlist when Bea handed her the phone,” Pedro was saying. “She never struck me as a Taylor Swift fan, you know?”

Ben immediately put down his basket, straining his ears. He fought back a snort, knowing that Bea had an entire _playlist_ of songs she deemed her “guilty pleasures,” not limited to Ed Sheeran, Selena Gomez, and Hannah Montana (_not_ Miley Cyrus). Taylor Swift was the least of her concerns.

“No, not at all,” Lucas said.

“But, well, a playlist titled _Songs That Definitely Don’t Make Me Think About Ben_ is a bit on the nose for her, isn’t it?” Pedro asked.

Yes, it really was on the nose, Ben thought, before his brain processed the rest of that sentence and he did a triple-take out the door. In the dim light of the living room - lit only by the setting sun streaming through the window - Ben picked his way over stray socks and empty takeout bags and Lucas’s _fucking dishes_ to step closer to where the two were talking. He accidentally kicked over an empty beer can and winced at the sound of it rattling away over the wooden floorboards. Despite the sound and Ben swearing softly to himself, Pedro and Lucas both carried on, seemingly deaf to anything but their conversation.

“Yes, well, every woman has sung along to ‘You Belong With Me’ in her car,” Lucas said. “What else did Hero say she saw?”

“Some song called ‘Dress,’ I don’t fucking know,” Pedro said. “‘Bad Romance’ by Lady Gaga. ‘Your Type,’ by Carly Rae Jepsen. ‘Bedroom Hymns’ by Florence and the Machine. All those songs about wanting what you can’t have, you know.”

Ben wondered if his eyes were going to fall out of his head with how wide they were. Not at the knowledge that Bea was a normie - she herself proudly admitted to being a bit of a basic bitch, to use her words - but the idea of Bea taking the time to make a playlist about him - no, that she even _thought_ about him enough to make one - Ben wasn’t sure if he was going to faint from his heart racing or dance like a loon or burst onto the balcony and demand the others tell him _everything_, but his feet felt glued to the floor as he strained his ears to hear more.

“Some cute indie singer named Dodie warbling about being smitten, you know,” Pedro was saying. “But then Hero said that Bea went and listened to some sad Taylor Swift tracks. She's got the range.”

“Damn, she’s really going through it,” Lucas said. “I wonder if Hero made a playlist for me?”

“Nah, you can make one for yourself,” Pedro said, kicking at Lucas’s chair.

Lucas kicked back. “Shut up. But like, I can’t imagine keeping all that bottled up, and then when I see the person I want to be with, I just freeze up.”

“Damn, I would, too,” Pedro said. “Trying to talk to the girl I like, and she acts the way Ben acts towards Bea? I’d keep quiet, too.”

Ben almost opened his mouth to say that Bea _started_ it usually, and he didn’t really care for it, either, but then he stopped himself. He wanted to hear more.

“You know what else she saw?” Lucas asked. “I remember Hero mentioned it to me - she has a picture of her and Ben as her home screen on her phone.”

“No way,” Pedro said, leaning forward while Ben almost fainted onto the Playstation, “The one I took of them at Florentine’s?”

“With the pink light? Yeah,” Lucas said. “Hero said she hadn’t seen Bea look that happy in months.”

“Since the last time she saw Ben?” Pedro asked, laughing.

“Yeah, that was the gist,” Lucas said. He sighed thoughtfully. “Man, they could really have something, you know? They both joke and taunt and tease and it’s fun to hang around with, sure, and you can tell they like each other, but they _like_ like each other. In a way screwing won’t improve.”

“Tell Ben that,” Pedro scoffed. “The reason they haven’t fucked is because Ben wouldn’t know what to do with his feelings. They’d crash and burn and ruin their friendship, if it can really be called that. Bea probably knows it, too.”

“Dude, harsh.” Lucas said. “It’s scary, man.”

“Family bias.” Pedro shrugged. “Yeah, they’d be good together. It’s weird to see Bea not speak her mind to him about this when she’s never had a problem before.”

“Yeah, but well,” Lucas shrugged. “If she doesn’t do anything, he’ll just move onto some other girl. Literally.”

That actually made Ben open his mouth, a retort of he was _not_ going to just move on and jump onto someone else, but then he snapped his jaw shut with an audible snap. Because it _was_ weird Bea wouldn’t speak exactly her mind to him, and it had never occurred to him (sober) that he wanted to hook up with Bea, but now the idea of hooking up with someone who wasn’t Bea just sounded lackluster and boring and undesirable and _what the fuck, what the fuck, gotta go now._

Ben picked up his laundry basket, almost tripping over his detergent bottle and snatching that up, too, on his way to the door. The door closed behind him with an audible slam.

~

_“You think that worked?”_

_“In freaking him the fuck out, yeah. I guess we’ll see what happens next.”_

_“That we will. Cheers, dude...Wait. How did you come up with all those chick songs?”_

_“Because I listen to them, too, nitwit. I follow Bea’s guilty pleasure playlist.”_

~

Ben stared, unseeing, straight ahead at the elevator doors as he waited in the World’s Slowest Elevator. It took him a solid two minutes of panicking alone to realize that he had forgotten to hit the button. In fact, the only reason it wasn’t _longer_ was because the girl down the hall in 3C caught him standing alone in the elevator. She gave him an odd look, hit the lobby button, gave another long look at his laundry basket, and hit the button for the basement, too. Then she put her earbuds on and ignored him.

Ben observed this, and also knew he was being weird, but also the only thing he could think was _Bea likes me. Does Bea like me? Do I have a shot with Bea?_ Immediately followed by the mortifying question of _Do I like Bea? Do I want to be with her?_

His garbage brain immediately went to the most base way that question could be interpreted, mind filing with thoughts of warm skin and mouths and wandering hands and Bea’s laugh, and his neck grew uncomfortably warm.

_Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,_ Ben thought on repeat as the elevator doors opened to the basement. He made his way down the hallway and stopped short in the door. _Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh -_

Bea sat on top of the line of washers, one leg tucked under the other and the other dangling down. Freshly washed hair was tucked up in a clip, and she was dressed in shorts and a baggy t-shirt. Ben’s eyes followed up from the chipped paint on her toes, her freckled legs, to the curves under her shirt, to the freckles dotted over her arms and nose, to the enormous bite of ramen she took from her bowl of Nissin Hot & Spicy. Broth splattered over her computer screen from the noodles, dotting Jackson Avery’s face in _Grey’s._

“Dicks,” she muttered. She grabbed a stray sock sitting in the laundry room and used it to wipe her screen. She looked up, caught his eye, and started slightly. “Christ, Ben, how long have you been there?”

“Uh,” Ben said. Her eyes were hazel, with long lashes and heavy brows, and he had always seen that, right? He knew her hazel eyes, the curve of her prominent nose, the way her hair fell over her face.

_I do, I do like her, fuck this is a bad time to realize this, fuck she’s hot, fuck, fuck, fuck -_

“There’s a free washer there,” Bea said, swinging her free leg _(skin, curving muscle, soft thighs)_ and kicking at the machine next to her. “2-D is taking forever, as usual, and is naturally taking up three washers. I’d consider leaving a passive-aggressive note if that had worked the first three times.” She tilted her head. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Ben said, and it only sounded slightly strangled. “I’m fine.” He bustled into the room and started loading his laundry next to her.

“Yeah? You look flushed,” Bea said.

“I’m fine,” Ben said, just on the wrong side of snapping. Bea lifted a brow at him coolly and hit the button to resume her show. For a few minutes the only sounds between them were the rattling washers and the show’s medical jargon.

Sticking his head in a washer and trying to keep Bea from seeing the worst of his dirty clothes was distraction enough to get his head on straight. It wasn’t Bea’s fault that he was an idiot who had never seen her attempts to connect, to talk, to be _nice_. That it had taken him overhearing a stray conversation from his roommates to put the last three years in perspective and see how much he had woefully, utterly _fucked_ all of this up.

Unless… unless he _hadn’t._ Bea still talked to him, bantered with him, shared her thoughts and opinions with him, smiled and laughed at and with him. He had seen it in the picture Pedro took of them that night at Florentine’s: his hands on her arms, her smile beaming up at him. A snapshot of all that they were and could be, if he got his head out of his ass.

_Better late than never,_ his mother had always taught him. _What are you going to do about it?_

“I’m sorry,” Ben said, standing upright and inserting quarters into the coin slot. “I’m, uh, stressed. School projects.”

“It happens,” Bea said, which he knew was different from _it’s alright_ and _you’re forgiven._ She took another slurp of noodles.

Ben shifted from one foot to another awkwardly. “It’s been a long day. What are you watching?”

“_Grey’s Anatomy_.” Another slurp of noodles. Bea’s eyes were still focused on the screen, where there was tinkling laughter from two of the women. Ben tilted his body weight to lean one arm on the washer, taking in the two well-dressed but very drunk women talking in a supply closet.

“I’ve never watched it,” Ben admitted. His mother had tried to get him to watch it with her once. He had suffered through it with her, spending the latter half of the episode on his phone when it was clear that the show was more interested in its doctors’ love lives than in showing the medicine. “Is it good?”

“No.”

Ben blinked, looking up at her. “Then why do you watch it?”

“Because it’s great.” Bea took a sip of her broth, winced at the salt and spice, and put it down. She looked at him, and Ben was momentarily struck by the flush in her cheeks from the spice.

_Play it cool. Don’t be weird. Ask about her interests._ Ben hopped up onto the washer on the other side of the computer, “That doesn’t make sense.”

Bea paused the show, but she didn’t seem annoyed as she explained, “It’s bad like _The Room_ is bad. Or daytime soaps are bad. It’s not exactly good TV - except when it is, and it’s _really_ good - but the drama and the twists and the ridiculousness of it make it good background noise. Even if no one acts like an adult or communicates like one, at all, ever.”

“I’m still confused. And I’m just now realizing you meant soap operas and not hand soap,” Ben said.

Bea laughed.

“No, I’m not. It’s best if explained, which I am about to do, thoroughly,” Bea said, tapping the spacebar on her computer and resuming the show.

“Oh, no,” Ben said as he crossed his legs under him and leaned back against the wall nevertheless. Bea shot him a look that said _you can leave, you know._ Ben stared resolutely back, giving her his best grin. Bea rolled her eyes and started her explanation, pointing to the screen with utmost authority and telling him:

“Okay, so this is Meredith, she’s the main character, and that’s Christina, she’s her best friend and arguably the best character in the entire show, except she leaves at the end of season ten, and _that’s_ Derek, and he’s Meredith’s husband, and I hate him-”

“Why do you hate him?” Ben interrupted.

“Oh, I’ll tell you, let me just finish the cast - that’s Weber, and Miranda, and Jo, and Alex, and I used to hate Alex too but he’s my favorite, and that’s Owen and he kind of sucks, too, and April and Arizona, I love them both even though they’re so messy, they leave in season fourteen and I’m still bummed about it, and that’s Callie, may she rest in peace -”

“She’s dead? Spoilers,” Ben teased, and Bea shot him a look that said _not_ to interrupt her monologue.

“She doesn’t _die,_ which actually puts her in a minority, she leaves later, and anyway…”

For the remaining twenty minutes of the episode, Ben learned more about _Grey’s Anatomy_ than he had ever cared to learn. Except with Bea sitting next to him, explaining the plot and the characters and their torrid romances, the show became funny and interesting and engaging. He found himself asking questions, trying to fill in plot holes, pointing out the silliness of the plot and Bea laughed at his jokes and it was weird, it was new, but it felt _right,_ like he had been puzzling over a jigsaw puzzle and had finally figured out how the final piece fit.

When the episode ended, Bea went to move her clothes from the dryer into her hamper, leaving the show on for Ben to watch. But he was distracted by the scent of her body wash, something light and fruity that was totally unexpected but also suited her perfectly, and at the curve of her legs and bottom as she knelt down to move her clothes _(was she doing this on purpose? Does she know she’s doing this to me? How did I never notice this?)_, and the pale curve of her neck -

“How many seasons are there?” Ben asked, distracting himself and quickly turning to the computer screen when she stood upright.

“Going on sixteen” Bea said, standing upright and closing her computer.

“That’s a lot,” Ben said.

“An understatement,” Bea said, grinning at him and lifting up her basket. Her arms were curved, strong. “So you’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

“Are you giving me _homework?_” Ben asked, raising an eyebrow. “On top of all these other projects?”

“You tell me you’re a studious boy. Prove it.” And then, God help him, Bea _winked_, a cheeky little smirk on her lips, and fuck, _fuck_, what has he been _doing_ that he’s missed this before, and should he say something? What could he even say? _Hey, I know it’s been a few years, but it’s just occurred to me that I’m utterly infatuated with you and I would like to try to start over again, hi, I’m Ben._

“Well, goodnight,” Bea said, and she turned around and walked away. Just like that.

“Night!” Ben called after her, and shit, now he was sitting there in the laundry room alone, sitting on a rattling washer, heart racing too fast and face flushed and half-hard from her long legs and a fucking _wink_ and _how_ was he going to not make this weird when it had very suddenly, in the span of half an hour or so, gotten very weird and utterly changed their whole dynamic?

Ben took out his phone and unlocked it with his thumbprint. His home screen glowed with the picture of him and Bea, a moment caught in time of the potential that they could be. If he wanted it and would work for it.

And he would. By _God_, he would.

Ben pulled up Netflix and went to the _Grey’s Anatomy_ tab. Then, wishing to all of the gods above and below for patience and luck, he hit _play_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the slow burn begins! hope it's not too heavy-handed.
> 
> i kind of have this mental image in my head of Bea looking like a mix of katherine tate and sara bareilles. ben is just a young david tennant because he's the best benedick. hero is kind of like rosamund pike circa 2005 _pride and prejudice._ still working on faceclaims for the rest of the group. 
> 
> The Grey's episode is taken from 10x04, "Puttin' On The Ritz."
> 
> kk bye thanks for reading love u


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hero and margaret plant a seed that was already growing just fine, maybe. 
> 
> cw for mentions of past abusive relationships. i'm sorry i only know how to write angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay! this chapter was oddly hard to finish. have some fluff and a little plot in thanks.

##  Chapter Five

“Did you read the chapter for Wrath class?” Katherina asked from her perch across the coffee shop table. Her face was scrunched up from her cheek resting heavily on her hand, her eyelids drooping. Either her three-quarters empty espresso hadn’t yet kicked in, or it was no longer working for her.

“I can’t read,” Bea said. She was just as tired, her eyes burning with dryness every time she blinked. Exhaustion tugged at her consciousness and made it difficult to finish editing this paper. She glanced at the time - 11:23. She had until 11:59 to submit this ten-page piece of shit. She lifted her fingers from the keyboard and scrubbed her palms over her tired eyes. _Why_ had she procrastinated so long on writing this? Between her thesis research - she had received her topic approval last week - and her already-full course load, she was slammed as the first round of papers and midterms hit campus.

She hadn’t seen Ben for their semi-nightly study sessions for almost a week. After growing used to it for the past month, it was strange to work with Katherina. She was much chattier than Bea remembered - she was full of keen insights and bitchy commentary that made classes, catch-ups over coffee, and the first hour or so of working together delightful, but now was grating on her.

Katherina laughed weakly into her coffee up. She drank, made a face at the taste, and then drank again. “Big mood. Bood.”

Bea blinked at her computer screen. She had been editing for the past half hour, double-checking her citations and trying to make sure her argument made sense. What was she arguing again? She looked at her thesis at the top of her outline: _trauma, Post-Traumatic Slave Syndrome, and child abuse in The Color Purple._

_Why do I study this?_ Bea asked herself. _I could have studied astrology - no, too much math. History. Sociology. Anthropology. Biology. No, I hate blood._

“I give up!” Bea announced, throwing her hands in the air. “Whatever! Fuck it! Fuck this! I’m sending this in even if it’s shit!”

“I highly doubt it’s shit,” Katherina said. “But hell yeah! It’s done! Go for it.”

Bea sent her a distant smile and brought up BlackBoard, uploading a PDF of her paper and hitting _submit_ with twenty minutes to spare before the deadline.

“And...I’m going home,” Bea said, starting to pack up her things. Katherina looked up in mild alarm.

“You sure? You can crash on my floor. It’ll be like freshman year,” Katherina said. “Blanket forts and cookie dough tubes and reruns of _Criminal Minds._ And you won’t have to walk home alone.”

“I’ll be alright,” Bea said. She swung her backpack over her shoulders. “I’ll text you when I get home, okay?”

“If you don’t, I’ll call your sister,” Katherina half-threatened, half-promised. Bea laughed.

“She’d probably love to catch up. Take care,” She said, and she walked away.

The halls were mostly empty and quiet this time of night. She occasionally walked past her fellow students, all of whom looked as tired and drawn as she felt. Her walk home was not long, perhaps fifteen minutes, but it was on a series of dimly-lit streets off-campus that Bea did not look forward to traversing on her own. She pulled out her keys and tucked each one between her fingers, tucking her hands into her coat pockets to keep warm in the chill autumn night.

A cold wind blew across the quad outside, sending leaves skittering about her ankles that crunched loudly when she stepped on them. Bea half-jogged down some stairs to keep warm, taking a shortcut through the engineering quad. It was better lit, at least - engineers seemed to be nocturnal, and a surprising number of rooms were still lit for ten to midnight.

“Bea!”

Bea almost jumped out of her skin, jerking her fist and keys out of her pocket and almost swinging at Ben as he strolled towards her.

“Whoa,” Ben said, pulling up short some six feet away and holding up his hands in defense. “I come in peace. Did I scare you?”

“Obviously, what does it look like?” Bea snapped. Ben blinked down at her, taken aback. She sighed, huffing out sharply through the nose. “Sorry. I just finished a paper and have been on low sleep for a week. But yeah, you startled me. Calling out to a girl walking by herself at night will do that.”

“Understood,” Ben said slowly. He lowered his hands slowly and walked to her. “Actually, I, ah, wanted to talk to you so you didn’t have to walk home alone.”

“Oh,” Bea said, feeling like an idiot and repeating, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. I’m sorry I startled you,” Ben said. He nodded his head in the direction of their apartment building. “Shall we?”

Bea nodded, falling into step beside Ben. For a few minutes there was no sound between them but the wind and rustling leaves. Bea found herself surprised - a silence that had once been taught with tension as she tried to find some way to get under his skin was now companionable.

She had missed him this week, she realized. Missed their quiet time working and just existing and not arguing, sharing lighthearted jabs and jokes across the balcony. The thought made her adjust her shoulders uncomfortably under her backpack straps, her stomach twisting in a way that wasn’t uncomfortable, but was unexpected.

“What are you doing here so late?” She asked, trying to break the uncomfortable-but-not silence.

“I’m taking a statistics course, needed to analyze a lot of data. My personal computer doesn’t have the power to go through it without it taking hours, so I use the engineering computers in the lab,” Ben said. “Basically it means that instead of sitting on Reddit on the balcony, I do it in on campus.”

“Sounds horrible,” Bea said before she could stop herself. Ben laughed aloud.

“It is, actually. Some guys in my classes love data. They see it as a puzzle. I just see a bunch of numbers,” He explained. “The puzzle is in the design.”

Bea hadn’t taken a math class since her mandatory calculus class her freshman year. Her puzzles were in the interconnectedness of culture, media, and identity, not in math and structure. She didn’t think one was better than the other. They were just different questions. What holds up a status quo? What holds up a bridge?

“Yeah,” Bea said. “I think I get that.”

“I knew you would.”

Bea had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling, but nothing could stop the way her cheeks warmed at the statement. Ben went on, “Plus, with my _additional_ homework of watching _Grey’s_, my schedule is chock-full.”

“You - what?” Bea almost squawked. “Wait, I was kidding when I said that. Are you actually watching it?”

“It’s something to have on in the background,” Ben said, “At least at first. But it grows on you. Like a wart. I’m on season three.”

“Really?” Bea asked. “So you’ve met Denny, yeah? What do you think of him? Oh, and tell me when you get to season four, that gets _weird_.”

“I will, I will,” Ben hummed, holding the door open for Bea and letting her step in front of him into the apartment lobby. Bea hit the button and spun around to look at him - it was on the tip of her tongue to ask him if he wanted to keep watching the show with her, because she missed spending time with him, but then he rubbed a hand over his tired face, mussing his hair, fingers trailing over his scruffy, well-formed jaw. Her mouth snapped shut again, suddenly dry. She bit her tongue at the surprising wave of shyness.

_It’s late,_ she told herself. _You just need to sleep._

She hit the button for their floor and leaned against the back wall, her arms stretched out and resting on the handrail. A shower, that’s what she needed. Some real food - no, it was too late for real food. A microwave dinner and real food in the morning. Her heart was jumping in her chest, an uncomfortable double-time that had nothing to do with their leisurely paced walk.

Less coffee, she decided. That was the solution.

The elevator stopped at their floor, and Ben held out a hand, holding the door and letting her leave first. Her heart did another hopscotch jump.

“Uh,” she said, eloquently, “Thanks.”

She walked past him, digging her keys out of her pocket. She twisted her head to the side, watching as he turned his key in the lock.

“Thanks for walking me back,” She said. “It was -” _Nice,_ she wanted to say. _This was nice. I missed you this week. Isn’t that weird? Is this weird? You’re right there, you’ve always been right there, but I don’t think I ever realized how far away “there” was. Do I seem far away, too?_

But they never agreed to this. They never agreed to _friends._

“Thanks,” She said again. For a moment she saw an unfamiliar expression flash across Ben’s face. Something like disappointment. But then it was gone, and he grinned at her.

“Just as long as you don’t tell anyone else. I’ve a reputation to maintain, Bea. Scoundrel extraordinaire.”

“You cry at SPCA commercials.”

“I said scoundrel, not bastard. I’ve got standards.” He turned the key in the lock. “G’night, Bea.”

“Night,” she echoed, and then she walked into her apartment. It was dark, but cozy, a single lamp on the coffee table lit and waiting for her to get home. Bea walked over to switch it off when the hum of voices caught her attention.

Hero’s door was open, just a crack, light spilling out and into the living room. Bea shucked off her shoes and wandered over to the door, planning to say hello or just flop down face-first into the first soft, horizontal surface she saw when she overheard a snatch of conversation:

“ - Not like he’s been with anyone else in the past three years - ”

“Brittany. Rebecca. Allison. Courtney. Rebecca again - ”

“Yes, a stream of less-than-a-month pseudo-relationships that stopped over a year ago,” Hero was saying. There was a swing, a soft _thwat_ sound, and Margaret squawked as the pillow struck her. 

“So you’re saying he’s in a self-imposed dry spell -” _smack!_ “Ow! Quit that - a dry spell because he’s holding out hope for your sister?”

Bea froze, her face screwing up into a confused scowl as she wondered what the hell her roommates were talking about. No one put their love lives on hold for a year anymore. And she was certain no one would consider doing it for _her_ \- sharp-tongued, critical, bitchy Beatrice, whose hair could never lay straight and who was plain compared to her younger sister. Eyes slid past her sharp nose and curves to Hero’s brilliant brown eyes and perfectly-proportioned body.

_Get a hold of yourself,_ Bea thought. _We’ve worked on this._

Hero and Margaret were talking again. Hero was saying, “I’m not saying that, no. But it’s interesting self-professed ladies’ man Ben hasn’t been on a date in a year, isn’t it?”

Several thoughts warred for Bea’s attention in the wake of that sentence: first, the instinct to roll her eyes out of her _head_ at the idea of Ben calling himself a _ladies man_. The second was the realization that, yes, it _had_ been a while since Ben told them all about his latest date or hookup, hadn’t it? Bea would have mused that he must have made his way through all the girls at Messina who could stand him except then, neurons flew and made connections to thought three, which was the realization that her sister thought Ben was single because he was interested in _her_, Beatrice.

She would have scoffed at the idea, but the sound got stuck somewhere behind her breastbone.

“They do make a good pair,” Margaret agreed. “I thought they were already together when we met, remember?”

_We would_ not, Bea wanted to insist, but even as she thought the phrase she realized she didn’t have anything to back it up aside from the ingrained habit of _see Ben. Give Ben shit. Repeat._

“Both clever and witty. Both sweet under their rocky exteriors,” Hero said. Her voice was thoughtful. Bea could imagine Hero twisting a curl of hair around and around and around her finger as she spoke. “They deal with a lot. I wouldn’t trust Bea to just anyone. But I trust Ben.”

Bea almost dropped her bag. But that would be too over-the-top, too dramatic, and she was tired and hungry and wanted to sleep and maybe get to the bathroom because her stomach was churning in knots and she wasn’t positive she wouldn’t be sick.

She threw her bag down in her room a little harder and louder than necessary, but maybe she needed Hero to hear her. Bea went to the bathroom and turned on the shower, stripping and getting into it before the water had even properly warmed.

It was stupid, Bea thought to herself. She was supposed to be _better than this_. She was supposed to be _past this_ \- or, if not past it, as her therapist explained, at least she had hoped the reactions would be less severe by now.

“You are not defined by what happened to you.” Bea repeated the affirmation by rote now, by habit when she started to feel like this. Her nails dug into her scalp as she washed her hair. “You are more than your worst day.” _Days._ Weeks. Months. “You deserve good things. You deserve to heal. You deserve lo -” She choked around the word, because it came out unsteady and cracked.

Still, that insidious voice, a relic from a time long past, whispered in her ear across the years: _“no one will love you as you are, not like I do.”_

Bea swallowed. No one would love her as she was, and she would just have to live with that.

_“I could never imagine you being affected by anything,”_ Ben had told her, and she wanted to laugh aloud. If he knew her at all, he wouldn’t say that. And that was the problem, wasn’t it? He hardly knew her, just enough to exchange little quips across the balcony.

She hardly knew him, but her heart skipped a beat when he smiled at her, and sometimes she looked at his picture on her home screen.

She hardly knew him, but she had missed him this week.

~

September gave way to October. The leaves started to change faster now, the wind kicking up showers of red, orange, and brown. Bea came home one day to find orange and purple halloween lights all over the apartment and Hero and Lucas carving pumpkins on the balcony. She set up a meeting with her adviser to discuss her outline and got her paper back.

She saw Ben only twice over the next week, once in the campus commons getting coffee, and once on her way to class while he typed on his computer, sitting cross-legged on the hallway floor like a gremlin. Both times he met her gaze and waved. Both times Bea’s stomach flipped like she had missed a step and she sent him a single, awkward nod.

It was just _weird_ to think about him after overhearing Hero and Margaret talking. The idea that Ben liked her was _laughable,_ she wanted to think, except then she thought about it more and then found the idea he liked her laughably _plausible,_ because she and Ben both acted like a couple middle school kids pulling pigtails and bickering on the playground, and then she didn’t know how to approach anything else because thinking about _Ben_ that way was...not terrible. Actually, it was kind of nice.

Ben was smart. Ben was clever. Ben made her laugh. Ben listened to her and met her gaze and gave back as good as he got when they bickered. Ben never tried to shrink her down, make her small.

In short, Ben was on her mind a _lot_ during that week and she still hadn’t come to any conclusions about what she wanted to do about that when she went to start her laundry and found Ben sitting in her usual spot on his computer. A half-full laundry basket sat beside him. He was in the process of lifting a slice of pizza to his mouth when she walked in, and both froze, staring at each other. Bea was suddenly very aware of the fact that she was in flip-flops and yoga pants and a baggy t-shirt with no bra, laundry basket on her hip with a _very_ lacy, Un-Bea-Like bra dangling over the side. A greasy slice of pepperoni slid off the pizza and onto Ben’s jeans.

“Uh -”

“Hey -”

“Sorry -”

“It’s fine -”

They both fell silent. Bea awkwardly walked to the one available washer and started loading her laundry. She had to split it into two loads because there was so much because college was a nightmare. When she slid her laundry card back into her phone case and turned around, Ben was already looking at her, holding out the pizza box.

“Hungry?”

And it was like a piece snapped into place in her chest. Bea felt herself grin, crossing the laundry room to hop onto the laundry next to him. “Starving.”

She accepted the slice and eyed it critically - hand-tossed crust, gooey cheese, bright red sauce that she could see bits of seasoning in. The pepperonis made orange pools of grease on the cheese.

“Is this DiMaggio’s?” She asked. She took a bite and made a face. “Oh, nevermind, that answered it.”

“It’s Belvedere’s, and I’ll _thank_ you to show it respect,” Ben said. He picked up another slice. “It’s the best pizza this town has to offer.”

Bea was positive that, somewhere, Brooklyn-native Pedro just had keeled over from a spontaneous heart attack. “Uh-uh. DiMaggio’s. The best deep dish you’ll find outside of Chicago.”

“The only deep-dish I’ve had was at an Uno in the Chicago airport,” Ben told her, shrugging. “I wasn’t impressed.”

“_Oh_,” Bea said, holding her free hand over her heart like she had suffered a mortal wound. She tossed the half-eaten pizza onto the pizza box and wiped her greasy hands on her thighs before grabbing her phone. “That - I can’t allow that. No. I’m rectifying this.” She hit a few buttons. “You like pepperoni and banana peppers?”

“_You_ like that? I thought no one else did." Ben said. Bea gave him a look that said _duh_ and hit a few final buttons with finality. “The pizza should be here in thirty. Then you’ll see.”

“Oh, I highly doubt that,” Ben said, but he shut the Belvedere’s box anyway. He flicked his fingers over the computer keys, pulling up Netflix. “Want to watch while we wait?”

It was _Grey’s Anatomy_ again.

“You made it to season five already?” She asked, amazed. She crossed her legs under her, adjusting to get more comfortable.

“It’s - look, don’t tell Pedro or Lucas, but it’s really good, alright? I cried when Burke left Cristina, that was such a jackass move, stop laughing!” Ben spluttered when Bea laughed over him at his outrage. “And you tell me there’s ten more seasons of that?”

“Eleven, now.”

“Fuck,” Ben said emphatically, “I gotta catch up.”

He hit _play,_ and they made it through half an episode before the DiMaggio’s pizza arrived. Ben took one bite and gaped at her, his eyes wide. “Holy _shit_.”

“Yeah,” Bea said smugly.

“Oh my _God_.”

“Yeah.”

“This is -” Ben took another bite and spoke with his mouth full, “The _best_ pizza I’ve ever had.”

“Yup,” Bea said, popping her lips. She took another huge bite, chewing thoughtfully. “This could use beer.”

“You hate beer.”

“Not _hate_, I just don’t like that stout you drink,” Bea said. “But, like, hard ciders? Pale ales? That’s delicious.”

“Wimp.”

“Remember when I went shot-for-shot with you in tequila shots sophomore year?” Bea demanded.

“Remember when you woke up with the worst hangover of your life?” Ben quipped back. He hopped down off the table. “Wait here - _don’t_ press play.”

He left and returned a few minutes later with two beers - a Guinness for himself, and an orange can he handed her.

“It’s a pale ale from a local brewery in San Francisco,” Ben told her while he cracked the can open. “I know you prefer to support small businesses.”

That comment made Bea flush, and she only looked down into her can as she cracked the seal. She sipped and the beer was better than she anticipated. She imagined she could finish perhaps half of it before she gave it to Ben to finish anyway, as was wont to happen on all of the family vacations she crashed.

The rest of the night passed faster than Bea had anticipated, her stomach and chest warmed with clean laundry, good food, and better company.


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tequila and costume parties make ben a sad boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hewwo! please enjoy. 
> 
> cw for pretty heavy alcohol use during the party scene in this chapter. also, Ben Horney.

## 

Chapter Six

A series of rapid knocks on the door woke Ben at an ungodly hour one Saturday morning in mid-October. Swearing and stumbling out of bed, he tugged a set of pajama pants over his boxers and made it to the door. He flung it open, ready to snap, when he came face-to-face with Hero, Margaret, and Bea. He was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was not wearing a shirt.

Ben stood in the doorway, blinking as he stared down at Hero, who was front and center.

“Why in the sweet lord’s name are you awake at this time?” He asked.

“It’s ten a.m.,” Bea immediately said, her gaze steadily fixed on a spot somewhere over his left shoulder. Ben wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or disappointed.

“Pedro better be dead,” Ben said. “Lucas, I’m more ambivalent.”

“Fuck you, Ben,” Lucas said casually as he walked out of his bedroom. He was fully dressed, fully awake, and ready to leave, which made Ben seriously consider strangling him. He nudged past Ben and pecked Hero on the cheek. “Morning, babe.”

“Morning!” Hero said cheerfully. She turned her attention on Ben. “We’re going shopping.”

“Cool?” Ben said, still not sure why he was awake or alive this early.

“Florentine’s annual Halloween party is next weekend, and we’re getting costumes,” Hero explained. “You should come!”

To be perfectly honest, Ben couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do _less_ than to go to the mall on a Saturday morning. (No, that was a lie - go on a run. But the mall was a close second.) But he had a problem set he didn’t want to do, and Bea was standing there in close-fitting jeans and a brown turtleneck and purple scarf, and yeah, that was something to get out of the apartment for.

“Give me a minute,” he said, and he rushed into his room to make himself somewhat presentable. In five minutes he had pulled on jeans and a shirt, tugging his leather jacket over his shoulders and following the others out the door.

The trip to the mall was a ten-minute drive with Ben smushed between Margaret and Lucas in the backseat. The mall was large but on the downswing, several stores closing and several more sitting vacant. They parked outside of the food court and walked in, Ben’s stomach growling at the smell of cheap pretzels and coffee.

“Why exactly are we here?” Ben asked.

“Group costume,” Margaret explained. “We’re -” She indicated herself, Hero, and Bea “-going as the Powerpuff Girls. I’m Blossom, Hero’s Bubbles, Bea’s Buttercup. We’re hunting for dresses.”

“And accessories,” Hero said cheerfully. She cheerfully took Margaret’s arm in one hand and Lucas’s in the other and steered them into a Forever 21. Ben sighed.

“I’ll get breakfast, then!” He called after them. Lucas sent him a thumbs-up to show he’d heard, but that was about it.

Ben shoved his hands in his pockets and wandered into the nearest Starbucks line. He ordered a large - “uh, venti, sorry.” - coffee and a breakfast sandwich. He dug in his pocket, palming his thighs, realizing -

“Oh, motherfucker,” He muttered under his breath, realizing he’d forgotten his wallet.

“Language,” Came Bea’s voice over his shoulder. She shot him a little grin as she cut in line, handing her card to the barista. “And a caramel latte, please.”

The barista nodded and swiped Bea’s card, handing it back to her. They shuffled off to wait for their drinks.

“Thanks,” Ben said, “I’m sorry, I always have my wallet on me.”

“I know,” Bea said. “But we did get you out of bed way too early. Figured it’s the least I could do.”

“Meaning that Hero also woke you up way too early,” Ben said. He remembered summers spent at her family’s lake house, bunking up with Pedro, Bea meandering out of bed at least half an hour behind everyone else with her hair a twisted, beautiful mess.

Bea grinned up at him as she received her coffee. “Got it in one.”

Ben took his coffee as well, going to the drink station to add liberal amounts of cream. “Are you going to shop, as well?”

“I already have a green dress that I’ve had laying around,” Bea said, and that was an odd reminder that he and Bea came from completely different social classes. She may have realized what she said, because she went pink around her cheekbones. “I mean, it doesn’t make sense to buy a dress when I already have one that suits an occasion that I’m not wearing. It seems wasteful.”

_God_, it was such a _Bea_ response that Ben had to drink his coffee before he did something foolish, like grin foolishly down at her. “So, what are you doing here, then?”

“Avoiding my reading,” Bea said easily. “Do you have your costume?”

“I wasn’t planning on anything, really,” Ben admitted. Back to school meant that outside of projects, Ben didn’t plan any further ahead than the weekend. If anything, he planned to have a beer or a blunt or both and sit inside and play video games. But the way Bea was looking up at him, utterly scandalized, he realized his plans were about to change regardless of whether he wanted it or not.

“We’re going to the Halloween store, _now_,” She said, and her hand flexed towards him. For a second, Ben thought that if Bea took his arm with the same level of assuredness that Hero had with Lucas, he was _going_ to pass out, but instead he dropped her hand and led the charge down the mall hallway. Ben followed and realized he would go anywhere with her so long as she looked at him like that, with that beaming, blazing expression.

“What do you want to be?” She asked. “Do you want in on the group costume?”

“Maybe,” Ben said. “I’m not sure I know who the Powerpuff Girls are, to be honest.”

“Yeah?” Bea said. She explained the plot, and listed a series of characters, before she stopped and beamed up at him. “Oh, I know the perfect costume.”

She grinned, wide and mischievous and brilliant, and Ben knew he was going to do whatever she suggested. But then she told him, and Ben agreed regardless.

~

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ,” Pedro said when Ben walked out of his bedroom on the evening of October 26 for the Florentine’s Halloween party. Pedro even crossed himself for good measure. “_What_ are you wearing?”

“I think I look dashing,” Ben said, lounging against the door. In reality, he was already sweating in the heat of the long red Under Armor shirt and leggings, homemade cutoff jeans and crop top, and borrowed fishnet tights. He tossed the pink feather boa around his neck for added effect. “Don’t you agree?”

“I think you’re a prick,” Pedro said. It would have been reasonable for the three roommates to be the Rowdyruff Boys, but instead they went as three of the villains. Pedro was decked in poorly-applied green face paint and wore a Mojo Jojo costume he bought off of Amazon. On the couch, Lucas was cackling into the water he was pregaming with. His leather jacket was bunched up beside him on the couch, his Ace costume just barely making him like the character (he hadn’t wanted to wear the green face paint).

“You ever think about being a drag queen, Ben?” Lucas asked when there was a knock on the door. “You’ve got the attitude for it.”

“Thank you.” Ben theatrically tossed his feather boa over his shoulder and flounced to the door. Hero had _really_ tried to get him to borrow some heels, but none fit and he was positive he’d break both ankles, so instead he stomped over in combat boots to open the door.

“Hell-_o_, girls,” Ben said, opening the door and giving his best impression of Him. Whatever remark Bea _immediately_ made at seeing him was drowned out by Hero and Margaret proceeding to lose it at the sight of him. They barreled past him in a group of cackles and jeers, bearing tequila and a bag of limes. Hero sat beside Lucas and pressed a bright pink kiss to his cheek, marking him with her lipstick. Hero was a sight in some kind of baby-blue number, and Margaret’s brown skin was set off with bright pink.

“Ben, do you have a cutting board I could borrow?” Bea asked from beside him. “Everyone wants tequila shots but no one wants to do the work for them, it seems.”

“Remember the last time you had tequila?” Ben asked, already going to the cupboard and taking out a wooden board and a knife. “Sure you want to take that risk?”

Bea rolled her eyes and took the things from his hands, which was actually necessary because this was the first time Ben had properly looked at her that evening, and he really needed a warning for that.

Her dress was not as short as Hero’s or Margaret’s, but the loose skirt fell to her mid-thighs. It tapered at the waist but was cinched even tighter by the wide belt around her waist, flaunting the curve of her hips. Her brown eyes were surrounded by a dark, glittering green, her lips painted burgundy. Then, dear _God_ help him, she tugged off her leather jacket, and he saw the way the dress exposed the planes of her back.

She casually turned away from him, washing and chopping the limes for their shots like she had no idea she was the most _gorgeous_ woman in the entire world. He grabbed the shot glasses for the group, mechanically going through the motions until they huddled together to get started.

“So, it’s salt, lime, shot?” Pedro was asking.

“No, it’s salt, shot, lime,” Lucas was saying, “Why would you want the shot last?”

“Why would I want to taste the tequila?” Hero asked.

“Hey, that hurts,” Margaret said. “Just because I’m not a bitch like all of you and can actually take tequila without the lime -”

“You’re terrifying, is why,” Bea said. She raised the glass to her nose and sniffed, wrinkling her nose. “Ugh, it makes my stomach roll. It’s not like I have such great experiences with it.”

“Skipping out?” Ben asked her. She stuck her tongue out at him.

“Mama didn’t raise a quitter,” She said, and she raised her glass. “To our last Halloween in college!”

Hero cheered to friends, and Margaret and Pedro to _salud_, and they knocked back the liquor. The tequila slid thickly down Ben’s throat to settle heavy in his stomach, and he was grateful for the sour-bitter taste of the lime to drown the taste out of his mouth that let him focus on something else.

(Except then he watched the way Bea licked the lingering lime juice off her lower lip, and he wished he could look anywhere else.)

Maybe it was because it was his last Halloween party in college, or he had been more stressed than he thought with classes and projects, or he needed something to focus on that wasn’t Bea (her loud laugh, the strappy back of her dress, the floral scent of her hair, the red on her lips, her _legs_), but Ben found himself imbibing more tequila than he had in a while during their pre-grame. By the time the Uber arrived to cart them to Florentine’s, Ben’s head was already growing fuzzy on the edges with alcohol. He was once again sitting bitch in the backseat, because the world hated him, his thigh pressed to Bea’s and her bare skin was _so close_ to his hand, so he knotted his fingers tightly in his lap to prevent any stray touches. She was wearing perfume, something heady and musky, and her cheekbones shimmered under the streetlights from her golden highlighter.

It didn’t seem to matter how he tried to avoid it, it seemed: either through keeping busy or in drinking, all of Ben’s waking thoughts consisted of the constant mantra of _Bea, Bea_, Bea.

Ben almost sighed with relief when they reached the bar and piled out of the car. Hero and Lucas were already getting handsy, flirting boldly and kissing hard outside the door before going inside.

“Be safe!” Bea called after them, to little avail or even signs that either had heard her. She sighed, taking her hair that had hung loose and trying it into a bun at the top of her head. Jesus _Christ_, was she trying to kill him?

Clearly not, because Bea cheerfully swaggered up to the bar without giving him a second look. He watched her rush to the bar directly into a gaggle of classmates who let out loud cheers at seeing her.

“Dude,” Pedro said next to Ben. “I’m literally begging you. You’ve got to talk to her.”

“Who?” Ben asked, stupidly. Pedro snorted so loudly people looked to see if he had anything to share.

“Ben, if you’re going to give me that bullshit, you’re going to at least buy me a drink,” He said. He dragged Ben to the bar and ordered two bomb shots. “Bottom’s up. _¡Salud!_”

Ben knocked back the drink and almost choked. “Stop giving me fucking tequila!”

“I don't think I can do that, morally,” Pedro said. He sipped his beer. “Ready to talk?”

“Are you going to keep making me drink?” Ben demanded. Over Pedro’s shoulder, Bea was accepting a cocktail from the bartender. She leaned across the bar to take her glass, her skirt riding up to reveal more of her legs, and Ben decided that maybe more booze might actually be the answer. He sipped the beer.

“_In vino veritas_,” Pedro said.

“There’s no goddamn wine in this bar,” Ben said.

“When in Rome,” Pedro replied.

“Stop just saying random alcohol-related shit,” Ben said.

“Whatever,” Pedro said. “I’m gonna try and get laid. Wanna make the rounds with me?”

Ben considered it for a moment. He thought about how perhaps a night with someone - anyone - might be the reboot his system needed. He hadn’t gotten laid in over a year, after all. Maybe all he needed was a nice, solid fuck, and then he could move on with his life and not make things weird with Bea, his neighbor and maybe-finally friend.

But then he saw Bea on the dance floor, standing in her group of friends. The neon lights shone on her green dress, her eyeshadow and highlighter, the sweat breaking out over her forehead and in the valley of her breasts, and - _fuck_. He couldn’t even pretend to be interested in anyone else in this bar. He’d probably call some random girl the wrong name halfway through, and she would leave anyway. So then he would be horny _and_ miserable. No, thank you.

“Uh, I’ll pass tonight,” Ben said. “I’m not in the mood. I’ll keep an eye on you.”

“C’mon, man, help me out. At least wingman,” Pedro wheedled. Ben sighed.

_Shit, I’m here_, Ben thought. Although if he had to watch some other asshole in this club try to pick Bea up, he wasn’t sure he could stand to watch that.

Except, Ben realized as the night wore on, and four shots became five and two beers became four, very few people were approaching Bea. Ben could not understand why - was it because she remained in the same comfortable core group of women? But the other women were being approached, as well. The few who talked to Bea either seemed only interested in being friendly, or were quickly turned away. There was a time or two that Ben almost completely forgot to wingman for Pedro because he was watching Bea dance, or laugh, or order another drink, _shit, she’s going hard tonight, I hope she’s being careful, shut up of course she is, she always is -_

Or stare across the room, an odd expression on her face. Her gaze was fixed on a spot to Ben’s right, and he turned, following her gaze. It landed on a man Ben was not sure he had seen before, a bit older than the rest of the coeds who populated the bar. He seemed completely average, in Ben’s estimates: medium height, medium build, short dark hair, dark eyes. He was wearing a vampire costume that looked like it came from a Spirit Halloween store. The most notable thing about him, to Ben, was the observation that he was drinking a Keystone, which meant he was a man of appalling taste. But Bea wouldn’t just be staring for no reason, so Ben watched more, and followed this odd man’s gaze where _he_ was looking, and -

He was watching Hero.

_Now_ Bea’s scrutiny made sense. There was something unnerving about this man’s gaze, something that made even Ben, who had been completely clueless until now, feel distinctly uncomfortable. His gaze was intense, studying, proprietary. Jealous. _Predatory._

This stranger looked like he was about to make his way over to Hero, marching through dancers and couples making out as if none would stand in his way. Ben knew it was not a coincidence he had found just the moment Hero separated from her friends to go to the bathroom by herself. Ben saw the way Bea’s eyes widened in this same realization, saw the flash of genuine fear in her eyes when she realized she would not make it to her sister in time.

Ben didn’t even think: he just moved, striding over to where this man was standing and snatching a two-thirds empty, abandoned cocktail glass from a nearby table. Then, standing directly behind him, Ben bumped into the stranger and proceeded to pour the entirety of the drink’s contents down the man’s back.

Predictably, the man jumped and swore loudly. “Mother _fucker!_”

“Oh, shit, man,” Ben said, playing up his level of intoxication (though not by much). He let his words slur together and the full brunt of his accent come through. “I’m so sorry, weren’t lookin’ where I was goin’, you alright, mate?”

“Clearly fucking not,” The man fumed. He untied the cheap polyester cord of his cape to yank the fabric from his back. “Watch where you’re going, asshole!”

“I know, mate, I’m so sorry,” Ben said, holding up his hands apologetically. Over the man’s shoulder, Hero meandered into the bathroom unaccosted. “I’ll watch where I’m goin’ from now on. C’n I help ye?”

“I don’t need any of your _help,_” The man sneered. “Go back where you came from.”

Which was a truly odd microaggression Ben wasn’t sure his people had really experienced in this country since the early twentieth century, but the man left to go to the bar to get some napkins. Ben shrugged and grinned to himself, sipping his beer. He lowered his drink and met Bea’s gaze. She stood completely still on the edge of the dance floor, staring at him with her lips slightly parted. He was not sure he had ever seen that expression on her face before - a mix of awe and surprise. She looked so _touched_ that Ben very seriously considered putting down his beer, crossing the bar, and kissing her then and there, telling her that he would do _whatever_ she wanted him to do, forever, if it kept her looking at him like that.

But those were the thoughts of a drunk, lonely man, and Bea was definitely at least a drunk woman, and Ben had some pretty intense beer breath going on, so that definitely was not going to be happening at any point tonight.

It was around then Ben’s last beer caught up with him, and he went from the spinning dizziness of intoxication to feeling completely discombobulated. Fortunately, this was around the time Lucas and Hero decided to finish what they kept seeming to start in the bar (ew) at home and asked Ben to call an Uber. Margaret had already gone home with someone, and Pedro, it seemed, was on his way to hooking up with a senior anthropology major. He ordered a car and groaned aloud when he saw it was twenty minutes away. Wearily, Ben paid his tab and went to the Taco Bell down the street and ordered a ridiculous amount of food for a ridiculously small amount of money. Then she sat down on the curb outside Florentine’s and ate a bean and cheese burrito.

_Christ,_ he was depressing.

“Ben?” Came the call from behind him. Ben twisted and saw Bea stumbling - she was almost literally stumbling, not walking quite straight, and that freaked Ben out more than he was willing to admit - towards him. She sat beside him on the curb, pulling her leather jacket tightly around her.

“Bea, it’s freezing,” Ben protested, “Wait inside, I’ll come get you and Lucas and Hero -”

“‘S too loud,” Bea mumbled. “And they’re making out. Feels awkward just sitting there, y’know? I feel like a voyeur.” She peered up at him, her gaze glassy. “And I needed to talk to you.”

“Needed to?” Ben echoed, his voice going up. Had she caught him staring at her all night? God, she must have, that could only have been weird, it would make anyone uncomfortable, he was no better than that creep who was staring at Hero. Which is surely what Bea was going to tell him, that he was just as much a lech as that stranger, and also to never talk to her again -

“Do you have any extra burritos?”

Ben’s thoughts screeched to a halt. Stupidly, he asked, “Sorry?”

“Do you have more Taco Bell?” Bea asked. “I have the drunk munchies and know I’ll feel like _shit _in the morning if I don’t eat something and also that smells _really_ good, do you have an extra burrito? Pretty please?”

Bea almost _pouted,_ dear Lord, her lower lip jutting out. Her lipstick had faded slightly as the night had gone on, and to stop himself from staring at her mouth, Ben wordlessly handed her a second bean and cheese burrito.

“Oh my God, _thank you,_” Bea said, ripping open the wrapper and taking a massive bite. She let out a satisfied moan that was completely, unfairly _erotic_ and left Ben uncomfortably adjusting himself beside her. With her mouth full she added, “Taco Bell is the best thing in the entire world.”

“I thought that was DiMaggio’s.”

“I knew I’d make you a convert,” Bea said. She took another bite. “But right now, at this moment? I would give my left kidney for a fucking taco. One of the Doritos-shell ones.”

“What’s wrong with the right one?” Ben asked. He took out a taco with a cool ranch shell and silently mourned it as he handed it to Bea.

“Fuck that kidney,” Bea said automatically and emphatically. Her mouth fell open as she unwrapped the taco, and she lifted it to the sky like the Virgin Mary holding up baby Jesus. Ben thought she might be about to cry when she said, “_Ben._ It’s a fucking _taco_.”

“I know,” Ben said, trying not to grin or laugh at her. Her cheeks were red from the cold, and she was so _fucking adorable_ Ben wasn’t sure what to do with his hands or his face or his words. So he said, “I just gave it to you.”

Bea took a massive bite of the taco as the car rolled up. She seemed to struggle finding her balance getting up, so Ben helped her by taking her arm and guiding her into the passenger seat. He left her with the middle-aged woman driving the car and a second taco to run in and drag Hero and Lucas out into the fucking Uber so they could all get home. To her credit, the Uber driver was very patient driving them home and was chatting with Bea, who was still talking with her mouth full and telling the driver how much she _loved_ her shirt.

They made it home and Ben tipped her fifty percent as he guided the group inside. He felt like a second grader in charge of a bunch of first graders, herding about the drunk, horny hellions and trying to make sure Hero and Lucas at least kept their hands to themselves and clothes on until they made it to the apartment. While they peeled right to go to the apartment (_oh, okay, fuck me I guess,_ Ben thought. _Guess I’ll sleep with my earbuds on tonight._) Ben walked Bea into her apartment.

It was his first time inside, actually. The three-bedroom apartment was cozy - a cluttered by clean kitchen and living room full of homey accents in the colorful, mismatched furniture and throw pillows and blankets. Bea went to get changed and take off her makeup and brush her teeth while Ben found her a glass of water and advil for the morning. A few minutes later, Ben knocked on Bea’s closed door.

“Bea?” He asked. “You decent?”

“Hardly,” came the reply. “But if you mean clothed, yes.”

Ben cracked open the door. Bea was already laying under her covers, her dark hair loose and brushed out, her makeup removed, even if there were still black splotches of mascara and eyeliner under her eyes. She sat up, her t-shirt sliding over one shoulder slightly. She had told him once that she cut a lot of her t-shirts because she didn’t like the feeling of high collars around her neck.

It was cozy, private. In the four years of their acquaintance, Ben had never been in Bea’s bedroom.

“You’re still here,” she observed.

“Your sister and my roommate are next door,” Ben said. He walked over to hand her the water. Not sure where to sit, he half-sat on the bed next to her while she drank.

“Ew,” Bea said, sipping the water. “I don’t want to think about that.”

Ben could relate to that. She sipped the water again. In the silence they could hear the rhythmic banging of a headboard against the wall. Ben wasn’t sure if it was Lucas’s or Margaret’s room, and he didn’t want to. It figured that he and Bea would sit here, in this limbo, while everyone else got to carry out their relationships around them. Why was it so hard to talk to her about this? Bea always spoke her mind, and Ben never shut up. It should be abundantly clear where they stood with each other. But something had shifted between them since Ben overheard Lucas and Pedro talking. Something was changing, or the fog was clearing, or everything was falling apart, or falling into place. It was too much to consider at half past midnight while they were both drunk and in her bedroom. As if she agreed, Bea put the glass on her bedside table and snuggled into her covers.

“I saw what you did for Hero,” She murmured sleepily. “At the bar. Thank you.”

Ben shrugged. “I tripped. Nothing to thank me for.”

“We both know that’s not true.” Bea reached out, fingers running down the pink boa he was still wearing. She slowly twined the feathered end through her fingers. She looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, her exhaustion and the alcohol pulling her under, and him with her. “You’re kind, Ben. I don’t understand why you pretend otherwise.”

God, how was he supposed to reply to that? Ben swallowed, his mouth dry. He wanted to make a joke, or laugh it off, but instead his mouth said, “I don’t know why, either.”

If she were awake, Bea would have poked and prodded and questioned to get to the very root of everything there was to unpack in _that_ admission. Instead, sleepy Bea nodded as if this made perfect sense. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“Of course,” Ben said. There was a raw honesty and fierceness in his voice that spoke of hidden depths. _Anytime. Anytime you need me._

“G’night,” She said, and she snuggled under the blankets. Ben wished he were there so much it actually ached throughout his chest.

“Night,” He echoed, and despite everything he wanted, he got off of her bed, flipping off the light and shutting the door. He really, _really_ wanted to get into his own bed, but he was worried what would happen if Bea was sick in the night and no one was there. Eventually, he went to his apartment to wash off the worst of the bar and put on his pajamas and returned to Bea’s apartment. Maybe she would be upset with him in the morning, but for tonight, Ben grabbed a throw pillow that read _Sassy, Classy, and a Little Bad-Assy_ and a blanket and went to bed.

Instead of a pillow and a shout, Ben awoke to a cup of coffee sitting beside his head the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> life: hands me distressing life news  
me, slipping on sunglasses: i can't read suddenly, i don't know


	8. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the Slow Burn keeps burning. bea watches capatain america and meets the man from the bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a shorter chapter! have some plot/fluff/angst before reaching the Heavy Shit. enjoy!

## 

Chapter Seven

Bea was never, ever,_ever_ drinking tequila again.

She spent the Sunday following Florentine’s party on the couch with a pounding migraine, wrapped up in her favorite fluffy blanket and leaning against the armrest, her _Sassy_ pillow clutched in her arms. It didn’t mean anything that they happened to be the same things Ben had used when he crashed on their couch last night, nor did it matter that they smelled like his aftershave and the evergreen-minty smell was one of the few things that soothed her stomach until Margaret got up and made them enough breakfast to feed an army. Bea started to feel more like a person once she ate, but only barely.

Margaret and Hero, both flushed and satisfied from their nights with their respective partners, were quietly doing homework and reading. Katherine came over to hang out in the early afternoon. She was more hungover than Hero or Margaret but less than Bea, and the four women put on some Netflix romcoms to provide background noise.

Bea snuggled deeper into the blankets and closed her eyes. She had awoken around eleven to find Ben sprawled out on the couch, brown hair in disarray and snoring softly. She had wanted to do something silly like push back the hair falling over his forehead or trace his jaw with her fingertips, but instead he brewed him a cup of coffee from the Keurig and set it beside him on the coffee table. He was gone when she emerged from the shower in her robe.

(Which was a _little_ disappointing - she had rather wondered what his reaction would be to that. It didn’t seem fair he kept catching her off-guard in his various states of undress. She still remembered the feeling of her stomach bottoming out and mouth going dry when he opened the door last week, shirtless and pajamas riding low and voice rough from sleep and _all_ of those things had featured prominently in her daydreams this past week, except in her daydreams they were very much alone and soon Ben wasn’t so overdressed. Heat curled low in her belly and Bea reflected that sitting in her living room with her sister and roommate and friend was not a good time to start thinking about Ben naked.)

So she digressed. Bea had sent him a quick text - _thanks again for last night_. Short and to the point.

Ben replied in less than fifteen minutes, just saying, _thanks for the coffee_.

Bea had not been sure what to say, and finally accepted there was nothing more to say. So she spent the day on her couch, exhausted and hungover and miserable and wishing _Ben_ were there and shit, maybe _Set It Up_ had not been the best idea to put on in the background.

Ben was not the only thing on her mind that day. Bea still remembered that stranger at the bar’s preoccupation with Hero, and wondered how to broach the topic with her. Did Hero know him? Had they talked? Had he been bothering her lately? Hero usually told Bea everything, so Bea didn’t think so. Except that made her feel _worse_, because she did not want to think about a random person wandering the city who looked at her sister that way and not know who he was.

It was all too much to consider when Bea still felt like a truck ran over her head, reversed, and then hit it again, so she curled up under her blanket and waited for the headache to fade.

~

_what time will you be home?_ Bea texted Hero one evening in November. She chopped a few more peppers until her phone pinged with a text notification.

_Super late, might stay on campus_, Hero replied. _I’ve got to analyze this data set and the numbers aren’t lining up right. I either just found another black hole or fucked up._

_Have you eaten?_ Bea asked. She tossed the pasta noodles into the pot, stirred them around.

_I’ll get something from the dining hall at some point_, Hero replied. _I don’t want to lose my spot at this computer._

Bea rolled her eyes. _I’ll bring you dinner in 30. Pasta carbonara._

_Omg sis_ 😭❤️😭❤️😭❤️ _ilysm ty ty._

_As if i’d let you starve_, Bea replied. She finished cooking in the next twenty minutes, tossing the pasta with peppers, broccoli, and bacon bits with the cream sauce she bought from the store. It actually smelled good enough that Bea reconsidered sharing, but she wouldn’t do that to Hero. Bea left a covered bowl for Margaret and went downstairs with the warm pot and paper bowls. Parking was free on campus after seven pm, so she was able to drive to the parking lot outside the physics building.

Bea would not have cared much in any case if people gave her odd looks when she walked through the halls holding a blue stove pot, but the people she passed were so tired or focused on their own work they didn’t give her a second look.

Hero was holed up in the physics and astronomy library, attentively typing away on her computer. She barely even noticed Bea approaching until she sat down beside her and jumped, accidentally hitting a few extra keys and muttering, “Shit!”

“Bea!” Hero said. Her eyes were shadowed and bloodshot from staring at a computer screen for hours.

“Where’s Lucas?”

“He’s doing a group project. He offered to come by and give me a break, but I said no. He’s busy, plus I’m, you know,” Hero trailed off, waving a hand over her general demeanor. As if Lucas might have had a problem with Hero’s jeans or blouse or slightly smeared makeup or frizzy hair.

“You look like a student who’s doing homework,” Bea said. “Does Lucas care about that?”

“No, of course not,” Hero said quickly. “But I really need to focus, and he makes focusing very difficult.” She went pink in the cheeks. Deciding this topic was done, Hero pulled the pot towards her and lifted the lid. “Oh my God, this smells amazing. You’re my favorite sister.”

“Funny,” Bea said as she pulled the paper bowls and plastic spoons from her bag. Hero served herself a massive portion and took an enormous bite, completely unselfconscious in a way Bea had long ago noticed Hero only was when she was with her or Margaret. She wondered if she ought to ask about that - the two often kept their conversations about relationships light and breezy, joking, ignoring the undercurrent of scarred-over wounds, healed breaks that lay under the surface.

Bea opened her mouth to try and broach the subject when the sounds of movement behind her made her twist in her seat. Her dinner almost toppled off her lap when she met the reproachful gaze of the man from the bar, the one who had watched Hero so closely.

“No food in the library,” He said gravely. “Campus policy.”

Bea almost told him to eat her entire ass for all she cared about _campus policy_, but Hero beat her to the punch, saying cheerfully, “Sorry, John! I’m doing that data analysis for McGreave’s class and the internet is so slow. My sister brought me dinner. This is Bea. Bea, John.”

"Hi." Bea was sitting in front of Hero, so she sent this _John_ her best glare. _I saw you_, she wanted to say. _I saw the way you looked at her, and you will not get any closer unless you want my fist in your face. Give me a reason, motherfucker._

From his expression, John seemed to recognize her glare from the bar, and he returned her look with the venom she expected. Hero took another bite of her food and completely ignored or missed this tense exchange.

John grunted. “Fine. Just clean up after yourselves.”

_Or what?_ Bea thought when John turned and walked away. _We’re not children, we can fucking clean up after ourselves -_

“Who is he?” Bea asked the second he was out of earshot. “I don’t think I’ve seen him before.”

“Oh, that’s John,” Hero said casually. She turned her attention back to the computer screen and hit a few buttons. “He’s a grad student in the department.”

“I didn’t even know you had a graduate program,” Bea said.

“It’s not super well-known,” Hero said. “And it’s not _bad_, it’s just…” She trailed off, failing to find a polite way to say _it’s just not that good or prestigious_. “It’s fine.”

“Uh huh,” Bea said. She was glad she thought to bring her backpack, because there was no freaking way she was going to leave her sister here until balls-a.m. with that guy skulking in the stacks. She pulled out her book for class and, just to be petty, made a show of making herself comfortable. From the baleful glares John sent her as he did his rounds as the night wore on, she had made the right decision.

She finally found the opportunity to ask Hero about John once they got into the car to go home. It was nearly midnight, frost spider-webbing over the windshield. Bea climbed into the car and started it up, cranking up the heat. Hero burrowed into the high neck of her jacket to keep warm, letting out an audible _“brr”_ sound.

“So, John,” Bea started.

“He doesn’t strike me as your type,” Hero teased, and Bea gagged loudly.

“Uh, no. He seems...intense.”

“Yeah,” Hero said casually. She pulled out her phone to send a couple texts while they drove home. “He’s kind of awkward, but seems pretty harmless. He’s helped me a time or two with data analysis. Mostly he keeps to himself in the library.”

“Hmm,” Bea murmured noncommittally.

Bea parked the car outside the apartment, tugging her keys from the ignition. Hero caught her arm before she could get out.

“Hey,” She said seriously. “You know I’d tell you if anything happened, or if anyone was making me uncomfortable. You know that, right?”

Bea _did_ know that. But she also knew that Hero still trusted the world, still assumed the best in people. She didn’t jump at loud noises or freeze when men raised their voices a shade too loudly. Bea wanted so, so badly to tell Hero about what she saw at the bar, what Ben might have prevented, but she cherished the way Hero looked at the world and only saw the best in people. She didn’t want to be the one to take that away.

(And maybe Bea was just being paranoid that night. Maybe she had let her experiences and her hypervigilance prejudice the way she saw the world. Maybe she was too harsh, distrustful, seeing boogeymen where there were only shadows. Maybe John was just an awkward dude looking for a fun night in a bar like a thousand other guys at this university. Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe it wasn’t that deep.)

“Yeah,” Bea said, swallowing her tongue and her reservations, “I know.”

~

It was Friday.

Bea had awoken that morning in a better mood than she had all week. It was a beautiful but blustery fall day, leaves dancing around her feet on her walk to campus and between classes. She got a paper back and received an A, and her meeting with her thesis adviser sailed on smoothly as they discussed her current rough outline.

But really, what thrilled Bea was the fact that it was _laundry day._

If her mother could see her now, she would laugh that Bea was so excited to haul all her shit down four flights and sit in a bland, musty-smelling room for three hours while the ancient machines did their best. But since it was getting a touch too cold to go outside in the evenings now, this was the only time she got to see Ben alone.

It occurred to her, of course, that if she wanted to spend time with Ben that all she had to do was _ask_. They had struck up a weekly ritual of bad TV and takeout in the basement, sitting atop the machines and cleaning and folding their laundry. But every week, as soon as they finished their laundry, they went their separate ways upstairs. They didn’t talk about what they were doing or why they were doing it. It was nice to finally be making it to the friends stage after almost four years. But it already felt - not _stale_, but like something was missing.

Damn Hero and Margaret for getting in her head. Life was so much easier when she and Ben just bickered all the time.

But, Bea mused as she kicked open the door and found Ben already sitting there, grinning at her like he may have been looking forward to this as much as she, this was also a lot more fun.

“Hey,” She said, standing in the doorway holding her laundry basket. Did she sound breathless? She hoped not. Oh God, was she making this weird?

“Hi,” He said. There was a bag of Chinese food sitting alongside him. Bea quickly tossed her things in the washer before hopping up beside him. She accepted the carton of beef and broccoli he handed her and let him have both egg rolls (too greasy, Bea had told him once, to which Ben had replied that was _rich_ coming from a woman who he had once watched take down a double bacon cheeseburger.)

Tonight, however, they weren’t watching _Grey’s_ \- Bea had inadvertently revealed last week that she’d never watched the Marvel movies, prompting Ben to almost faint off the washers and then insist that they were remedying that next.

They started with _Captain America: The First Avenger_ because Ben was very insistent on following the chronology, which Bea had been indifferent to until she saw both Chris Evans and Hayley Attwell. The movie was fun to watch - not exactly lighthearted, but it was good to unwind at the end of the week. Bea had picked up a cheap bottle of wine from the store on her way home, and the two traded it back and forth like pirates sharing a bottle of rum.

(_“Bea, this is...not good.”_

_“Then don’t drink it.”_

_“And let you drink alone? Perish the thought. I’ve a strong stomach, I’ll manage it.”_

He had winked with the final statement, tilting the wine bottle to his lips, and Bea’s eyes had briefly followed the line of his throat before her tipsy mind wondered how it would feel to trace her tongue over his skin, what sounds he might make, and she immediately looked away to take a massive, very un-sexy bite of food.)

(Jesus, she needed to get laid.)

Because they were both focusing on the movie, there was less chatter than usual as they watched. They sat side-by-side, close enough to touch but not actually touching. Ben’s shoulder and arm was warm next to her, solid and comforting. His hand was splayed out between them. Close enough to take, if she wanted. Bea wasn’t naive enough to think that Ben had _no_ idea what he was doing, or what it looked like. He was just leaving the ball in her court.

But she didn’t. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe because they were in the _laundry room_ \- actually, if she was being honest, it was mostly that. But this was also so _new_ \- her feelings for Ben, the realization (facilitated by Hero) that he might feel the same for her, the lust that had crept up on her this past week that she wasn’t sure what to do with. And Bea’s mind kept making the jump from holding hands, to holding _him_, to kissing, to jumping into bed with him, which was too much too fast that she was not ready for so Bea kept both of her hands flat on her thighs, _thank you._

The movie ended after a few pauses to change out their laundry. The pause felt different than the ones between _Grey’s_, which were more often full of chatter and quips and laughter as the next episode queued. It was heavy, expectant, as if there was a shoe hidden in the ceiling that they both were waiting to clatter to the floor.

Ben’s hand moved from its position between them to quietly shut the computer. Bea watched him move, muscles flexing in his wrists, up his forearms, biceps, his chest. Ben wasn’t a particularly built individual. He was lithe, skinny. His jaw was scruffy with five o’clock shadow, and when Bea looked up at him - found he was already looking back at her, and had watched her complete her little once-over. She blushed, completely at a loss of what to say, biting her lip in nervousness like she could physically stop the words _holy shit what the fuck is happening here_ from spilling out.

Ben’s gaze fell to her mouth, following the motion. When he looked up again, meeting her gaze, Bea knew three things -

One, he was absolutely about to kiss her.

Two, Bea absolutely wanted to kiss him back.

And three, she was absolutely not ready for that.

She broke their eye contact, clearing her throat. “Uhm,” She said. “Well. That was a, um. Good movie.”

She hopped down from her perch, scooping up her basket and preparing to run. Like a coward. _Coward, coward, you’ve worked to be better than this._

“Glad you like it,” Ben said. His voice was carefully neutral. Bea looked up at him.

“This was -” _Exciting? Too much? Weirdly earth-shattering?_ “Fun. I had fun. Can we do it again next week?” Bea hated that she sounded pleading. Like somehow her little overreaction was going to send this whole pseudo-friendship-thing crashing down.

“Yeah,” Ben said. He looked confused, and for a second Bea wondered if she really had imagined what she saw, what she felt. But then he grinned, something warm and heartbreakingly sad in a way that almost made Bea kiss him anyway and hopelessly confuse them both. “Definitely. I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah.” Bea took a step toward the door. “Well. Goodnight, Ben.”

“Goodnight, Bea,” Ben said.

She was at the door. Which meant she needed to look away from this painfully awkward, tense moment and try and fumble with the door with hands that she had just realized were shaking. “Okay. Bye.”

Bea left the laundry room and punched the button to go upstairs. Only when the doors shut did Bea let out a deep, shuddering sigh, her face turned skyward to stare at the metal ceiling. She bit her lower lip, but twin tears escaped her eyes anyway, one after another.

_You are not defined by what happened to you. You are more than your worst day. You deserve good things. You deserve to heal. You deserve love._

Bea just wished it were easier to believe that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! i'm anticipating a bit of a break until the next post, which will be a two-for-one.


	9. Interlude II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's fucking dogberry fam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dogberry means were were at the part we were all dreading. 
> 
> CW for mentions of nonconsensual sexual contact

## 

Interlude II

“Okay, bros,” super-senior Richard Berry said, pointing to the whiteboard in the middle of the Delta Kappa fraternity house living room. “We’re clear on the schedule? On what to do?”

There was a general chorus of assent throughout the room. Richard crossed his massive arms over his chest, the neon-yellow SWARM tee he wore stretching taught over his shoulders. “So, what do we do if we see someone spiking drinks?”

“We call them out, kick them out of the party, dump the drink, and tell the girl she may have something in her system,” One of the sophomores said.

Berry nodded. “Hell yeah. But it’s not always girls who are drugged so keep that in mind, little man.”

“What if someone drugs their own cup and then drinks it right away?” A junior asked. “No one else touches it.”

“Huh,” Berry said, thinking. “Well, alcohol is a drug, too. So they may be mixing drugs. Keep an eye on them to make sure they’re alright.” When no one asked any questions, he went on, “What do we do if someone is being creepy and touching people?”

A weedy little freshman spoke up. “We kick his ass!”

“Well, maybe not you,” Berry said. There was a general chorus of well-meaning chortles. “But we tell them to keep their hands to themselves and if they can’t do that, we’ll ask them to leave. And escort them if they won’t go quietly.”

“What if it’s a dude slapping his girl’s ass?” Someone asked.

“Well, as long as it’s part of their relationship and they’ve decided they’re okay with in public, that’s okay. As long as it’s not making anyone uncomfortable,” Berry said.

“Can we slap your ass, Dogberry?” One of the seniors asked, using Berry’s nickname from the football team. There was a general commotion of woot-whistling.

“Since you asked, hell yeah, you can slap it,” Berry said. He raised a meaty hand and swung it down into his ass. A loud _smack_ echoed in the room. “I keep it _tight._ And I am comfortable with my sexuality. Fuck yeah.”

Berry checked his watch. It was eight-thirty, an hour or so before doors were set to open before DK’s annual Turkey Turn-Up. Unlike their usual weekend parties, this was on a Tuesday, the night before classes ended for Thanksgiving break. Some fellow seniors were lugging cans of beer down to the frat house basement, and others were carefully making and measuring the vodka and cranberry mix for the punch.

“Careful with those portions!” Berry called to them. “The measurements should be as close as we can make them. Overindulge responsibly, you know.”

“That’s stupid, Dogberry,” one of the frat brothers said, but he poured some of the vodka in the measuring cup back into the bottle. Berry shot him a grin and set off to complete the preparations.

~

The next time Berry thought to look at his watch, it was almost eleven. The party was in full swing - lots of dancing, swaying, drinks pouring and spilling, makeout sessions in shadowy corners. Delta Kappa parties were known for their balls-to-the-wall debauchery and the tendency to get a little out of hand. The Deek bros were masters of partying and shenanigans, especially so under Dogberry’s leadership as chapter president. Despite needing to take an extra year to finish following a football injury and a bit more property damage than his mother had been pleased with him about, Dogberry was proudest of the fact that Delta Kappa had become the safest and most preferred party spot for the University of Messina under his leadership. Assault cases had dropped to almost zero, and hazing was severely prohibited and enforced by the older brothers.

“Berry!” A couple of girls called out to him as he walked by. Dogberry stopped and found himself swarmed by a few sorority sisters from Kappa Alpha Theta. The one in front took his arm. “Berry, c’mon, do some shots with us!”

“Some other time,” Berry said, grinning. “I’d love to, but I’m on duty for this party, gotta stay sharp. But we can party some other time, yeah?”

He winked, the sorority sister blushed prettily, and the rest of the Thetas squealed. Dogberry grinned down at all of them. “But otherwise, you’re all okay? Having water and all that?”

“Berry, you’re too sweet,” The sister said. She reached to run her fingertips down Berry’s muscular bicep. “And so _strong!_ What could you lift with those, I wonder?”

Berry grinned. “A hell of a lot. But that is a conversation for a later date. I’ll give you my number, and hey, let me get you some water.”

The girl nodded, and Berry left her to head to the basement water cooler. The stairwell was through a door, slightly separate from the house and dark. Berry jogged down the stairs, appreciating the way the stairwell was quieter than the rest of the house. No pounding bass, no loud drunks (not that Berry could _ever_ comment on that point, he was the loudest of them all), no cheerfully shrieking girls.

Except it was quiet enough that Berry was able to hear as he went down the stairs:

“Hey - I said _no_ \- stop, no, stop, _stop_ -”

And it was moments like these that Berry was grateful for his two hundred and ten pounds of bulk and muscle: it was the work of about three seconds to hear this commotion, jump to the bottom of the stairs, and see what was going on. All Berry saw was a dark back and a flash of a pink shirt and blonde hair, but he had heard all he needed to.

Berry grabbed the back of the guy’s shirt and tugged roughly, not particularly caring about the gross gagging sound the dude made as he did it. Scrunching the fabric in his fist, Berry lifted him slightly to raise the guy to his toes. Even then, Berry had a good half a head on him.

“And what in Sam hell do you think you’re doing?” Berry asked. His tone said that he knew _exactly_ what the other guy was doing, he did not particularly _care_ to hear any answer he had to give, and he was about to escort him from the premises immediately. Dimly, Berry registered the girl sprinting up the stairs as if her legs couldn’t carry her fast enough. Disgust curled in Berry’s stomach.

“Come here,” he snarled. Bodily, he dragged the guy up the main staircase, not heeding his protests and not caring about the scene he caused as he dragged the man through the main room like he wore a scarlet letter. One of his fellow brothers saw Berry coming and his thunderous expression and held the door open for them. Cold wind bit at Berry’s bare skin as it rushed in, and he unceremoniously shoved the guy out into the November night. The guy stumbled, catching himself before he fell face-first into the sidewalk. He spun around, mouth opening to say _jack shit,_ but Berry beat him to it.

“Don’t ever show your goddamn face here again, or I won’t be so gentle,” Berry ordered. “And keep your grimy _fucking_ hands to your _fucking_ self.”

He slammed the door shut and turned to the brother at the door. “Make sure he’s not let back in.”

“Got it, Dogberry,” The brother said. “Nice one.”

“Thanks,” Berry said. He used his height to crane his neck over the crowd, studying the dance floor. Jesus, why were all these girls so _tiny?_ And why was it so _dark?_ He couldn’t see a damn thing.

“Did you see a girl come up?” Berry asked. “Uh - blonde hair, pink shirt?”

“That’s like half this room,” The brother said, which was true. The girl Berry had rescued had vanished into the November midnight like Cinderella leaving the world’s worst ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someone commented on how clever it was to talk about ass and dogberry in this because of a line from the play and thank u to that person bc all i wanted to do was write about dogberry loudly and proudly slapping his own ass in public
> 
> if this chapter has got you feeling some kind of way, you can look for support at any of several resources:
> 
> national domestic violence hotling (us): https://www.thehotline.org/
> 
> national teen dating hotline (us): https://www.loveisrespect.org/
> 
> national sexual assault hotline/RAINN (us): https://www.rainn.org/
> 
> national domestic violence hotline (uk): http://www.nationaldomesticviolencehelpline.org.uk/


	10. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the three leading ladies deal with the fallout. ben stumbles into the secret, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SERIOUS CONTENT WARNING for references to nonconsensual sexual contact, discussions of mental/emotional trauma, and panic attacks. feel free to skip - i'll provide a quick tl;dr at the beginning of the next chapter for folks. self care, y'all.
> 
> this will be one of the roughest chapters that i'm anticipating, but this chapter will mark a turning point in the tone and discussions re: sexual assault.

## 

Chapter Eight

Later - hours, days, years later - Bea would always remember how the world had stopped that November night.

She remembered where she was - on the outer edges of the dance floor, between Katherina and Margaret. She remembered Walk the Moon was playing. She remembered she was drinking a cheap strawberry wine cooler that left a taste like cough medicine on her tongue. She remembered she was wearing a brown crop top and her frayed jeans and even more frayed converse.

But what she really remembered was a hand - a pale, cold, shaking hand - snatching at her wrist as it swayed in the air. And the way that she froze, and turned, and saw Hero. Saw the way her pretty blonde hair was askew, the band half torn out, her pretty pink shirt damp from a spilled drink, her pretty red lipstick smeared. Her eyes were huge and watering.

Hero never said a word, but Bea knew that look.

The rest of the night was equally clear - she left her wine cooler abandoned on a side table next to a couple making out. She tugged on her jacket, helped Hero zip hers up because her hands were shaking too hard. Margaret wrapped her scarf around Hero’s neck. Katherina gave them her hat. She left the party with them, but at some point peeled off to her single. Or maybe to set something on fire, given her temperament.

She remembered holding her sister’s hand the whole walk home. Hero taking a long shower while Bea made tea. Remembered the way she listlessly scrolled through her phone. Remembered Ben had sent her a text.

_did u all leave? abba came on and i didnt see u tear up the dance floor with your bare hands._

_yes_

_everything ok?_

Bea left him on read because she had no idea how to answer that.

Hero came out in a pair of long flannel pajama bottoms and what looked like one of their mom’s sweatshirts. Every inch of her except for her face was covered by warm, shapeless, heavy fabrics. It was quiet. For a long time. It felt like a long time, at least. Or maybe it was only a few minutes. Time didn’t feel real anymore.

Hero finally broke the silence.

“Get angry.”

Bea blinked. Hero’s eyelashes were damp, leftover eyeliner and mascara painting black shadows under her eyes, but her expression was hard.

“Please, Bea,” She said, and she was both pleading and ordering, and everything was _wrong,_ because Hero was always telling Bea to _calm down, it’s not that deep._ “Get angry.”

“I _am_ angry,” Bea realized. She _was._ She had not quite realized it in the pressing thoughts of get her out of here, but rage so hot it was cold was sitting in her stomach and radiating out to her fingers and toes. It was less of a ranting rage, and more of a cold, quiet surety, that she could find whoever did this to her sister and _rip his fucking heart out of his chest._

“You’re _not_,” Hero insisted, “You’re - you’re so loud when you’re angry, and you rant, and you make all of these ridiculous threats, and -” She gulped, her voice breaking. “And if you’re not doing that, then something is really wrong, and then I know this is _real,_ and I don’t know how to let this be real yet, so please, Bea, can you get mad? And rage?”

Katherina would probably be able to do that, Bea thought. But it was like her words - and she always had so many, so many things to say and shit to talk and analyses to spout - had vanished. It might be nice to scream or hit something, but everything felt cold and frozen, distant.

“Please?” Hero asked. She looked at Margaret, who had both her hands pressed over her mouth. Tears were rolling in fat drops over her cheeks and hands. “Margaret?”

Margaret shook her head. “Come here, _cariña_.”

She folded Hero into her arms. Bea remembered moving to hold her sister, too.

She remembered everything when she woke up the next morning, squished between Hero and the bedroom wall as the three women shared the full bed. She stared at the ceiling, watching the fan slowly spin round and wondered what to do now.

First on the docket, Bea decided were the basic needs. Food. A shower. The bathroom. Coffee.

Bea gently brushed Hero’s curls back and wiggled out of bed to pad to the bathroom. Hero’s clothes from last night were still piled on the floor - the skinny jeans and the pink top from Express she had liked so much. Bea wondered what Hero would do with it now.

She showered quickly, scrubbing off sweat and makeup like she could scrub off the way the night seemed to linger on her skin like a grease stain. She tamed her hair into a braid and found jeans and a shirt to put on. Dimly, Bea remembered that she had a ten-a.m. class that she was supposed to attend. She had not thought to set an alarm and could not be bothered to go to class now.

Bea went into the kitchen and had started the carafe brewing when Margaret stepped outside.

“She’s asking for you,” Margaret said by way of good morning. She motioned to the rest of the kitchen. “Go, I got this. I need to do something.”

“Thanks,” Bea murmured. She went into the bedroom and found Hero had barely moved, only the top of her head poking out from her blankets. Bea hovered in the doorway in some kind of terrible fugue of hesitation - she did not want to treat Hero as some frail, broken thing, but Bea had also never quite realized until now just how _small_ Hero could make herself, how she could curl up into herself as if protecting her fragile guts, lungs, heart. Like she thought if she could make herself small enough, she could just disappear, and everything would be over and move on. _Please don’t see me, please don’t touch me, please don’t look at me with those sadangrypitying eyes._

Bea remembered laying in her bed, trying to make herself small.

“Hey there,” Bea said. Her voice was so fucking _fragile_. She hated it. But she could not exactly kick the door in and loudly announce _cheer up, bitch!_ the way she would if Hero had received a bad grade or didn't have a prom date. Bea sat on the bed beside Hero, gently stroking her hair.

“Mhm,” Hero mumbled into her pillow. Bea adjusted herself so that Hero’s head lay on her lap.

“How are you feeling?” Bea asked. _Bad_ seemed to be the most obvious answer, but at least if she answered Bea knew Hero wasn’t going to try and smother herself in Bea’s thighs.

“Tired,” Hero murmured. “Just exhausted. And I feel…” Her voice cracked. “I feel _disgusting_.”

“I know,” Bea murmured, still stroking Hero’s hair. She needed something to focus on as clammy fingers reached inside her breastbone, trailing filth behind her ribs and over the folds of her brain as they dirtied everything she had worked to set to rights.

Hero stiffened. “This is how you felt?”

Bea sighed, laying her head back against the wall and looking up at the ceiling fan circle around and around and around. “Yes.”

Hero was quiet for a long time. In the kitchen there were the sounds of cooking and the smells of bacon and coffee. Finally she said, “That does make it a little better. Or a little less lonely. That’s terrible to feel. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, that’s so wrong of me -”

“No, no, no,” Bea said softly, gently tugging Hero’s hair. “Don’t start doing that. If you find anything that makes this even a little bit easier to get through, take it. I don’t mind. I can take it.”

Hero let out a long, shuddering breath. Bea realized the thigh of her jeans was damp.

“Okay,” Hero whispered. Slowly she moved into a sitting position. “Okay. I’m going to shower again.”

She stood up and walked to the bathroom. Bea saw the way Hero swayed slightly as she walked, like a ghost or a weary traveler. Bea followed her to the living room, sitting at the kitchen table. Margaret poured two cups of coffee and placed it in front of Bea wordlessly. Bea bought herself time to think as she poured creamer and sugar into the mug. Margaret sat across from her, holding her mug in her hands to warm them.

“What do we do?” Margaret asked. Her face was pale, the bags under her eyes puffy. “I’ve known girls this has happened to - I mean, I’m not positive _what_ happened. But I know enough. But it’s never happened to anyone I knew so personally.”

“_We_ don’t do anything,” Bea said quietly. “We can’t. We just have to wait and watch and support her. And tell her this isn’t her fault.”

Margaret blanched. “But she - _Dios Mio_, how could she even think that? How could she think _we_ would think that?”

Bea had, in fact, written several papers and read countless articles - in magazines, in academic journals, in books, on blogs - on why someone would think that. But before she could delve into it, like somehow talking about trauma in the abstract was going to make her insides feel less raw, there was a knock on the door.

Bea’s first thought was Lucas. Hero hadn’t told him she was leaving the party, after all, and Hero hadn’t exactly been texting anyone that Bea knew of. But then the door knocked again, more urgently, and Bea opened the door as Ben’s fist swung down again.

_“What?”_ Bea asked, more sharply than she intended.

Ben’s expressions were a fascinating study in facial expressions - surprise, relief, confusion, anger, surprise again, and finally, back to confusion. Finally he stated, “You’re okay.”

“Yeah,” Bea said, her mental state slow on the uptake. “I’m fine.”

“I just thought,” Ben said, still standing in the doorway, “When you just disappeared from the party I texted you, and you said you left but not that things were okay and I just figured you had fallen asleep or something but then you hadn’t gotten back to me and I know you hate leaving people on read, so I was worried something had happened, but.” He stopped to finally breathe and waved a hand in her general direction. “You’re fine.”

“Yeah,” Bea said flatly. “I’m fine.”

Ben studied her for another few moments. “Hang on,” he said. “Something is wrong.”

“No, it’s not,” Bea countered automatically, her hackles rising. She stepped back like she was about to slam the door in his face, but Ben stepped forward, putting a hand to the door.

“What happened?” Ben asked seriously. He met Bea’s gaze, concern and confusion in his expression, and Bea suddenly felt like crying more than she had in the past twelve hours since this nightmare started.

“It’s - ” Bea couldn’t bring herself to say _it’s nothing_, because it wasn’t, but it wasn’t her story to tell, and she couldn’t bring herself to say anything while Ben’s mind was clearly spinning and coming up with every bad scenario he could picture, selecting likelihoods and possibilities, drawing conclusions.

“Did something happen to you?” Ben asked. “Did someone -?”

“_No_, okay?” Bea hated the way her voice pitched high and reedy. “No, it’s not - it’s just -”

“It’s me.”

The words died on Bea’s tongue when Hero spoke. She turned toward her sister, who stood in the doorway in her towel following her second shower in eight hours. Hero’s expression was severe, pinched, hard in a way Bea had never seen on her sister’s face but had seen plenty in her own mirror.

Hero hitched her towel higher around her chest, held it tighter in her hand. “Something happened to _me_, okay? So we left.”

“Oh,” Ben said, surprised a little stupid. He looked between the three women and seemed to realize what he had rather forced his way in on. “_Oh_.”

“Yeah,” Bea snapped. “_Oh_. Now will you please leave?”

“Does Lucas know?” Ben asked.

“_No!_” Hero cried.

“Do _not_ tell him,” Bea added. Ben held up his hands in defense.

“No, of course not, I just wanted to make sure. I won’t mention it to him,” Ben said. “I’m sorry, I’ll just…”

He left. Another long silence fell in the room.

“So,” Hero said. Her voice was still hard. “We talk now.”

“Okay,” Bea said. “Hero, we can talk it over. Or go to -”

“No.” Hero held up a hand. “What time is it?”

“Eleven thirty,” Margaret said.

“Okay,” Hero said. Her voice still had that placid, hard tone to it that struck some kind of primal chord of fear in Bea. She had never heard Hero sound like that before. “We leave to go home for Thanksgiving together at four o’clock today. And we get back around the same time on Friday. So for the next forty-eight hours, we will not _breathe_ of this. I’m - I don’t want our parents to know.” Her voice faltered. “And the only way I know to keep that from happening is to shut it the _hell_ down and _not_ deal with that right now, so I’m going to lock it down and not deal with it and then once we get back on Friday I can fucking shatter the way I’m supposed to.”

“You can do whatever you want, you’re not _supposed_ to do -” Margaret started.

“Happy freaking Thanksgiving,” Hero interrupted, and she marched into her room and slammed the door. Both women winced.

“Well,” Margaret said. “I guess that’s our plan.”

“Yeah,” Bea said. There was an odd rushing in her ears and she wasn’t sure if she was going to scream, cry, or faint, so she did the only thing that seemed possible at that moment and decided to run. “I need to do some laundry before I pack.”

She went to her room and grabbed her half-full basket. Bea didn’t _need_ to do any laundry, of course, but it beat re-packing her bag and staring at the apartment walls. Bea took the stairs down all four flights just for the exercise and something to do.

The tears started coming as Bea was tossing things into the washer - no separation of colors or delicates, just throwing everything in because fuck it, what did it matter anymore? Hero was hurt and there was nothing she could do so she might as well shred her good bra in a regular wash. Socks kept falling to the floor, shirts wouldn’t turn the right-way out, and Bea somehow missed the detergent cup and poured half of her soap onto her shoe. When her shaking fingers dropped the quarters to the floor, too, blurry from her tears and clanging loudly on the floor, Bea lost it. Her throat was sore and tight from trying to hold everything in, so she slammed her fist on the washer so hard it hurt, so hard it echoed off the walls.

“God _dammit!_” She yelled. That echoed, too. She scrubbed her hands over her face, catching at traitor tears. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. That fucking -” Bea couldn’t quite get enough air, or breathe around the lump in her throat. She tried to follow her therapist’s suggestions and _breathe_, in and out, counts of four, and nothing was working.

“Good Lord. Bea?” And of course, _of course_, Ben would appear exactly when she didn’t want him to _ever_ see her like this, shattered like an empty beer bottle on the ground. But of course Ben would appear like a scruffy knight in dingy armor in the fucking laundry room the moment everything hit Bea and she had her first panic attack in years. It seemed fitting.

So obviously, to confuse everyone further and make everything _more_ complicated, Panic Attack Bea decided that the best course of action in this scenario was to practically launch herself at Ben, wrapping her arms around his waist and letting out a _wail._

Which - well, if Bea were in her right mind, she would have likely just left the state after doing such a thing. But she was not in her right mind, and Ben was warm and smelled like that evergreen aftershave and his heartbeat was a quick but steady _thump-thump-thump_ under her ear.

Bea was not sure what she was expecting when she threw herself at him, but it wasn’t quite to feel him wrap his arms around her (_strong, so so warm_), gently running his hands up and down her back and patting her hair. Dimly she heard him murmuring to her, accent thick and sweet (_let it out, there’s a lass, just breathe, Bea, I’m right here, you’re okay, just breathe_).

She wasn’t sure how long they stood like that, locked together so closely they almost swayed. Bea hadn’t actually eaten anything yet that day; perhaps she did. Once she finally she wrung herself out, settling down with a shivery sigh, she - well, she stayed where she was. She was warm, and comfortable, and Ben was still running a hand up and down her back. It was easy to push all her demons back under when he was with her. It helped her to prepare for the next few days.

“Alright there?” Ben asked. His breath stirred the hair at her temple.

Bea nodded, her cheek still pressed to his chest. “I’ll be fine.”

“Oh, I never doubted that.” Ben was still stroking her back. “Ready for the next few days? You know Ped and I are coming, too. A bit later because Pedro has a project, but we’ll be there tomorrow.”

“Of course you are,” Bea mumbled. Ben spent short holidays with Pedro, which meant he alternated Thanksgivings between Pedro’s and Bea and Hero’s family. This year was the sisters’ home outside of San Francisco a little over two hours away. 

“Sorry, not sorry,” Ben said. “And I promise you won’t be, either. I’m making my ma’s chranachan. And I pour heavy.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Bea said with a light chuckle. Why hadn’t she moved? It was everything she could do not to do something silly like snuggle into him.

“Think a parfait made with whipped cream and whiskey,” Ben told her. “And raspberries.”

“I love raspberries.”

“Why do you think I’m making it?”

Ben said it so casually and matter-of-factly Bea’s face flushed hot and a thrill raced through her. It was as delightful and adorable to imagine Ben making a dessert he knew she would love as it was mortifying and guilt-riddling to feel excited about _anything_ when her sister was currently curled up in a ball in her room.

God, the emotional whiplash was going to kill her if the stress didn’t first.

Ben pulled away to let her breathe and knelt to pick up the last quarter. He pressed it into her hand. “I’ll follow yours and Hero’s lead tomorrow.”

He squeezed her hand once and left. But then a minute later he walked back in.

“I’m sorry, that was a great exit, but I forgot I actually need to do laundry.”

And despite everything, Bea _laughed_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> curious what cranachan is? look here: https://www.christinascucina.com/cranachan-lovely-scottish-dessert/
> 
> again, if this chapter has got you feeling some kind of way, you can look for support at any of several resources:
> 
> national domestic violence hotling (us): https://www.thehotline.org/
> 
> national teen dating hotline (us): https://www.loveisrespect.org/
> 
> national sexual assault hotline/RAINN (us): https://www.rainn.org/
> 
> national domestic violence hotline (uk): http://www.nationaldomesticviolencehelpline.org.uk/


	11. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ben sits in on the most awkward-but-not holiday ever. happy freakin' thanksgiving.
> 
> CW for discussions of trauma and survivorship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> promised tl;dr from last chapter: the crew attends a pre-thanksgiving party, where Someone Who Is Not Yet Named assaulted hero. bea, margaret, and hero deal with the fallout and ben stumbles into the secret, too.

## 

Chapter Ten

If Ben hadn’t known better, he would never have suspected something was awry for Hero or Bea. It was simultaneously impressive and terrifying.

Hero and her mother greeted them at the door when Ben and Pedro arrived at the Stratford residence around noon. The two women ushered them inside with a warmth that never failed to make Ben feel surprisingly welcome, given how often he and Bea had bickered over the years. The house was spacious and elegantly decorated, but homey. (Ben always supposed this was Mrs. Stratford’s doing, seeing that her sister, Elena, had the same decorating styles when Ben went home with Pedro for breaks.) Mrs. Stratford cooed over Ben’s cooking and walked him into the kitchen where Bea was slicing potatoes for dinner later. She sent him a small smile before returning to her work.

Ben placed his bowl in the refrigerator and set the scotch to mix with it on the counter. Mr. Stratford wandered in and let out a low, impressed whistle. “Glenlivet! An excellent choice. Welcome back, Ben.”

“Thank you for having me, Mr. Stratford,” Ben said earnestly. “I appreciate it.”

“Say nothing of it. After all these years, you’re like a member of the family,” Mr. Stratford said with a loud laugh. Ben guessed he was already a beer or two into the day. “We all appreciate having you here!”

Against his best judgement, Ben glanced to where Bea was cutting potatoes. A pink flush was creeping up the back of her neck while she stared down at the cutting board.

“It’s great to be here,” Ben said. Bea flushed darker.

Mr. Stratford then showed Ben and Pedro into the living room. With the open floor plan, Ben could simultaneously watch the National Dog Show the Stratfords had on and be hyperaware of Bea standing fifteen feet away. Hero cheerfully said hello to her cousin and guest and returned to her book. From what Ben could tell, it looked like a book of legends about the constellations.

It was all so comfortable, so _normal_. Ben felt like he had just arrived in the uncanny valley. Hero chatted with Pedro and Ben while she moved back and forth between the living room and kitchen. Bea stayed in the kitchen most of the time, helping her mother cook. The smells of turkey, vegetables, and wine filled the house as the afternoon wore on.

Mr. Stratford and Pedro seemed comfortable with sitting and watching television - the Dog Show, and then once that ended, football - but Ben still didn’t quite understand the Great American 

Pastime and could hear his mother’s chiding about _manners_ in the back of his head, so he quietly excused himself to step into the kitchen area.

“Is there anything I can do to help, Mrs. Stratford?” Ben asked. Mrs. Stratford looked up from where she was stirring something over the stove.

“Thank you for asking, but no, we’re alright here, Ben. You all have been so busy with the semester, I wanted _all_ of you to take a break.” She drolly glared at her daughter while Bea laughed to herself.

“I missed you, mom.”

“I missed you, too, bumblebee,” Mrs. Stratford said, reaching over to ruffle her daughter’s hair and press a kiss to her temple. Bea blushed bright pink and tried to glare at Ben through her mother’s one-armed hug, _daring_ him to comment. Ben grinned like today was his birthday and Christmas come early.

“But Mom, you’ve been working all morning,” Bea said. “I can handle the stuffing and green beans. Ben _probably_ won’t burn anything.”

“Ha ha,” Ben said sarcastically. There was no real bite to his words while he stepped into the kitchen.

“Well,” Mrs. Stratford said. “I would love to put my feet up for a few minutes. Let me know if you need anything, sweetheart.”

She hugged her daughter again and went into the living room. Bea waited until her mother was out of earshot to levy him with a glare.

“You are _never_ to repeat that.”

“C’mon, just once?” Ben pleaded. “I won’t ever tell anyone else.”

“I will take this moment to remind you that I am holding a _knife_.”

“Gonna sting me, I see.”

Bea opened her mouth to retort, but instead of a snap, a snort came out. “That was good. Fine. _Once_.”

Ben grinned wide and stepped closer, lowering his voice to make sure none of the others overheard. Cheerfully, he murmured, tenting his fingertips under his chin like a fourth-rate comic villain, “_Bumblebee_.”

And Bea _blushed_, bright pink up her neck and over her cheeks. She folded her arms over her chest and looked away. “There. It’s done. Now you can never repeat it.”

“I won’t. The once was enough,” Ben said, and he went to wash his hands. “Put me to work, queen bee. What shall I do?”

Bea rolled her eyes, biting her lower lip against a smile. “I’m working on the stuffing. If you wouldn’t mind washing and cutting the celery, I’d appreciate that, actually.”

“Done.” Ben let Bea dig through the cupboards for a knife and cutting board while he washed the vegetables. They stood side-by-side in the kitchen, quietly chopping food for Thanksgiving dinner. Bea was playing music on her phone and humming along. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail, and the lights in the kitchen made strands of her hair shimmer red. It was comfortable, companionable. Domestic.

He wished it were in better circumstances.

Bea let out a sigh next to him. She had been quiet for a while, intent on her task. But then she sniffled.

“You doing okay?” Ben asked quietly, knocking his shoulder against hers. Bea’s head snapped up, levying him with a withering glare. Ben’s head spun. “...With those onions, I mean. Mean little things, onions. Real tear-jerkers.”

Bea snorted softly. “Very clever.” But she reached up to scrub over her eyes with the sleeves of her brown turtleneck.

Ben made no more blunders while they made dinner. Hero and Pedro wandered in and out of the kitchen, and Mrs. Stratford came back in to help after an hour and a half or so. Eventually everything was ready, and all that was left was to wait for the turkey to finish cooking. The family opened the wine around two in the afternoon, and by four everyone was slightly tipsy and munching on the snacks Mrs. Stratford had brought out even as she warned them not to spoil their appetites. Ben was feeling pleasantly warm, and Bea’s cheeks were flushed a pretty bright pink. Hero was still sipping on one glass of wine while she curled up in an armchair with a blanket over her. To the outside observer, she looked at-home and comfortable.

But every now and then, Ben watched the way Hero would jump in and out of conversation, jumping into topics with gusto, laughing and bantering with Pedro as they cheered for opposite teams. She was louder and more vocal than usual when she spoke, and silent on the moments when she didn’t, as if she had suddenly exhausted all of her social energy. Ben wondered if anyone else even noticed she was doing it. From the looks Bea and Hero occasionally exchanged, at least Bea had an idea of what was going on.

His thoughts were interrupted by Mrs. Stratford cheerfully announcing dinner and calling everyone in to serve themselves. The kitchen island was set up buffet-style, with the turkey Mrs. Stratford had carved, the mashed potatoes and gravy, the stuffing, the green beans, the yams, the rolls with butter, the cranberry sauce all lined up. Much as this holiday confused him, Ben wasn’t one to pass up a chance to eat way too much good food, so he loaded his plate with the rest of the family and joined them at the table. He had taken a few bites before Mr. Stratford came in, setting down his food and raising his glass.

“I just wanted to say,” Mr. Stratford said, his face ruddy and eyes bright with emotion, “How much I have to be thankful for. Ursula, my love, thank you for cooking.”

“It’s what I’m best at,” Ursula said, standing up to kiss her husband’s cheek. Ben had to forcibly remind himself that Mrs. Stratford was the proud owner of a high-end restaurant in downtown San Francisco and that that wasn’t just a weird thing to say these days.

“To the seniors in the room,” Mr. Stratford said, waving a hand to Pedro, Ben, and Bea, “You’ve grown so much. I’m so thankful for your health. To you, Bea, my eldest, always ready to take charge and take over the world. And to Hero, my beautiful baby girl. I’m so proud of you and the amazing, strong woman you’ve become. Something your mother and Bea have a hand in, I daresay!”

There was a brief, horrible, _horrible_ pause following that little speech. The silence dragged out, it seemed, for thirty seconds, and Ben glanced at Hero, whose gaze had gone distant and glassy, then to Bea, who was blinking dumbly, the sisters wearing identical, pasted-on smiles as they tried to accept this thankfulness like everything was okay when it was _so clearly not okay_.

“Thank you!” Ben half-yelled to break the stifling silence. Both Bea and Hero jumped at his words, but Ben plowed on, raising his glass to clink against Mr. Stratford’s. “Your family has been so generous while I’ve been in college, giving me a place to go during these holidays. It really feels like a home away from home!”

Another long silence. Ben very seriously considered just pouring his wine glass down his front to keep the attention on him.

“Glad to hear it,” Mr. Stratford said, and he bumped his glass against Ben’s. “Now, I’ve taken up enough air in the room! Come, let’s eat!”

They all somehow made it through dinner with little other fanfare or sudden toasts. Mrs. Stratford commented on the food and updated the others about family connections that meant little to Ben, but filled the room with something to talk about and ask after. Mr. Stratford shared his Best Courtroom Hits of the year, detailing cases he had won in detail that was not entirely appreciated when the case in question was a triple homicide. But the wine was plentiful and good, the food was better, and both parents seemed inclined to speak, so the conversation flowed easily for the rest of dinner. 

Finally, the plates were cleared and they had eaten all that they could for the time. Ben and Pedro helped clear the table while Mr. and Mrs. Stratford put the food away and Bea and Hero washed the fine china dishes. It was all so _normal_ that Ben almost wondered if he had imagined Mr. Stratford’s accidental gaffe with the toast.

But he handed a plate to Bea and met her gaze for the first time since dinner - he had avoided her gaze lest anyone guess that something was Going On - and the clear expression of gratitude in her eyes was enough to put a lump in his throat. No, things were still very wrong.

The family took a little time to relax between dinner and desert, so they sat, watching the football game. The Lions game was on, and Ben watched, bemused, as Mr. Stratford and Hero (who had recovered, it seemed) sat and yelled together at every ruling the coaches made.

(“Dad went to Michigan Law,” Bea had explained to him at that first Thanksgiving together, three years ago now. She rolled her eyes. “They’ve had this thing where they watch the game together and see who can scream the loudest about the ref calls.”

“And you don’t join them, Bea?” Ben had asked. “With a yell like yours, maybe the refs would actually hear you.”

“Shut the fuck up and give me that pie.”)

An hour or so later, everyone was ready to get started on dessert over the game. The Stratfords broke out the ice cream and brandy while Hero sliced the pie. She took a big piece of apple for herself, but cut an even bigger one that she put on a plate with a spoonful of ice cream.

“Can you take that to Bea, please?” Hero asked blandly. “I think she went to the study to get some air.”

Ben had noticed Bea quietly exit the living room about half an hour ago and, thinking she might need space, had sat on his hands to make sure he didn’t text her. He accepted the plate with a droll roll of his eyes that Hero did not buy for a second, if her brief smirk was any indication. He noticed Mr. and Mrs. Stratford exchanging glances and pretended not to notice; this was likely the smoothest holiday he had yet spent with them, with no bickering or spats between him or their elder daughter. Let them think something more was going on, if that kept them from seeing the ugly, ugly truth.

“I’ll be back,” Ben said, and he left to take Bea her dessert. But he made a quick stop in his room, first.

A few minutes later, Ben found himself outside the slightly cracked door to the study. It was really Mr. Stratford’s home office-cum-library, with a handsome oak desk on one side of the room and two comfortable armchairs next to an electric fire. The walls were lined with books - mostly law books and journals, but Ben saw some cookbooks that Mrs. Stratford had written or appeared in, as well as a smattering of classical literature and children’s books. The curtains were drawn and the overhead lights were off. In the light of the lit fireplace and desk lamps, the room was cozy, warm, and dim.

Bea sat curled up in one of the chairs, sitting cross-legged as she watched something on her phone - Ali Wong, from the tinny yelling sound coming from the screen. She was wrapped up in a thick, woolen shawl, her hair loose from its bun and waving loosely about her shoulders. She was wearing purple socks. What a thing to notice.

“I come bearing dessert,” Ben said as he hovered in the doorway, holding up the plates. Bea cracked a weary smile.

“Then I’ll forgive you not knocking.”

Ben had no right to grin, he knew. But something about the quiet seclusion of the room and her welcoming smile made him nearly giddy. He’d ask about it, or act on it, but he’s in her house on the Most Covertly Tense holiday he’s spent with her and her family, so he just nudged the door shut behind him and walked over to her.

“Hero took half the apple pie for herself, and gave you the rest,” Ben said as he presented the plate to her with a flourish. Bea snorted.

“Sounds about right,” She said. She sat cross-legged, facing him and the fire as she dug in. “_God_, my mom makes the best apple pie.”

“It’s the only reason I’m not offended you haven’t eaten my chranachan,” Ben said as he took a spoonful.

“I’ll get to it,” Bea said, waving her spoon at him. “C’mere, I’ll have some now.”

She reached over, trying to dig her spoon into his bowl. Ben slapped her spoon away.

“Excuse you, that’s mine! You made your choice, eat your half of the damn pie -”

“Now I feel like an ass, Ben, come on, just give me some - aha!” Bea dug her spoon into his bowl and took a batch of raspberries Ben had really been saving for last. But it was worth it to watch the first genuine smile he had seen on her face that day as she beamed in triumph, eating the food he had made her.

God, he was sunk.

“And I, ah, brought something else,” Ben said. He reached to the floor to pick up the bottle he had surreptitiously placed there when he came in.

“What’s that?” Bea asked, leaning forward.

“It’s Aberfeldy,” Ben said, popping the cork. “The twelve year variety. Honey, various spices, and orange notes. It’s like autumn in a bottle.”

“You didn’t put this in the chranachan,” Bea observed. “Why’s that?”

“This is a proper scotch,” Ben said, taking a swig from the bottle. “You sip it. Generations of Highlanders would rise out of their graves and slice me ears off for mixin’ it. Oh Lord, the accent’s comin’ out now, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Bea said. She accepted the bottle when Ben held it out and took a swig. It was _strong_, burning her mouth and throat on the way down, and Bea sputtered.

“I said _sip,_ Bea,” Ben laughed. “Not hit it like a shot.”

“I’m not much of a whiskey girl.” Bea was still blinking rapidly. “I prefer wine. Tequila.”

“Tequila doesn’t prefer you, I’m afraid.”

“Hush,” Bea said with no real heat, sipping again. She cradled the bottle to her chest like a pirate guarding her favored rum. The bottle glowed a warm brown in the firelight, a perfect amber tone that offset Bea’s brown eyes. “Don’t give me the _facts_.”

“Didn’t go very well the last time I tried. We both woke up with some horrible hangovers.” It came out sounding more like _harr_-ible, and Bea cracked another smile at that. Bea had never made fun of his accent, but it had never occurred to Ben that she might actually like it when the full force of it came out.

“Yes, well, it was a night to remember,” She laughed. But then her face fell, eyes clouding over again. She looked guiltily down at the bottle in her lap, like _it_ had made her forget for ten seconds that she was supposed to be miserable. 

“How’re you holding up?” Ben asked after a long pause. He reached out a hand to take the Aberfeldy. If Bea was going to be sad and drink, she certainly wasn’t going to be drinking alone. Ben sipped the whiskey.

“I’m - “ Bea sighed. “I’m getting through it.”

“Didn’t answer me question.”

Bea sent him a small look over his grammar mistake, like either of them cared. She sighed and pulled her blanket tighter around herself. “I’m exhausted trying to pretend everything is fine. Hero wanted to act like everything is okay for break. I don’t think she’s even processed it yet. She won’t even start until she gets back tomorrow.”

“That,” Ben struggled for words, trying to find a tactful way to say it. “That sounds...hard.”

“Yeah,” Bea said. She let out a long, shuddering sigh and held out the hand for the bottle. Ben wordlessly passed it back to her. Bea took another sip, smaller this time, weighing the liquor on her tongue before she went on, “It’s better with you, though. I don’t have to pretend. Thank you for what you did at dinner.”

“Of course,” Ben said, oddly breathless. He hoped she couldn’t tell. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You’ve never asked before.” Bea handed the bottle back to him. Ben sipped it as he considered his words.

“I’m trying to think of how best to phrase this. I don’t want to sound like a dick.”

“You probably will anyway,” Bea said lightly, with no real bite. “Just have at it.”

“Okay,” Ben said with a chortle. “Fair point. But it looks like you’ve got the ideal family situation here - loving, supportive parents. Financial support. Strong personalities like you and your mam. Why isn’t Hero screaming from the rooftops what happened?”

Bea went stiff, and Ben wondered how badly he had fucked up. “I just want to understand,” Ben told her. “If I didn’t know already that something was wrong, I’d never have guessed today that something happened the other night. And it’s made me wonder how many people I know have been struggling, in front of me, and I never knew.”

The look Bea gave him at that little speech was somehow more expressive than any words she could have said. Surprise, awe, affection, vulnerability - she looked at him like she was seeing him for the first time, and Ben wondered if it might have been. How long had they been circling each other, bickering and arguing and eclipsing one another, waiting to finally align? Like magnets spinning endlessly until snapping to attention, two compasses veering wildly before finding north again. 

_Teach me_, Ben wanted to tell her. _Tell me how to be the man you deserve, and I will become him. _

“There are _books_ on that subject,” Bea said finally, interrupting Ben’s tipsy thoughts and speaking as if she hadn’t just casually shifted Ben’s entire axis. “Guilt, concern for the perpetrator, shame and fear - God, so much fear. Of what others will say, how they will react, wondering if people will believe you? Sometimes coming forward with the story is worse than what actually happened. The assault happened once, but some numbnut with a Twitter can post every day. There are as many reasons not to come forward as there are people who choose not to. I can’t guess what Hero’s are. I’m not sure she’s even decided what to do.”

“What can she do?” Ben asked.

Bea shrugged. “Go to the school. Or the police. I don’t know if she knew who it was. She hasn’t said anything about them to me.”

“Really? Not even to you?” Ben flinched at his own phrasing. Bea shook her head.

“I just know she’s locking everything down until we get back tomorrow. I don’t know what happens then,” Bea said. She reached for the bottle, but Ben took her hand instead. Bea flinched in surprise, fingers twitching in his, but after her initial reaction she did not pull away. 

“You’re going to get through it, Bea,” Ben told her. He squeezed her fingers, once. Another time he would run his thumb over her knuckles, count the freckles on the back of her hand, trace the lines on her palm. But that was for a romance. Right now, Bea needed an anchor.

Bea stared at him and nodded once. She squeezed his fingers back, and they sat there, holding hands across the fire, until Hero came to collect them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow so i think i'm basing ben on a lot of things my bf did before we started dating. i told him this and was told "i would never drink guinness through a curly straw, how dare you."
> 
> as you can tell, i'm going into my rape crisis counselor mode (bc that's my job) and decided to soapbox all over this gd fic. thank you for your patience. more resources! these will be posted following all the heavier chapters.
> 
> national domestic violence hotling (us): https://www.thehotline.org/  
national teen dating hotline (us): https://www.loveisrespect.org/  
national sexual assault hotline/RAINN (us): https://www.rainn.org/  
national domestic violence hotline (uk): http://www.nationaldomesticviolencehelpline.org.uk/


	12. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the trio wraps up the end of their fall semester. bea and ben have a much-needed conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for your patience!!
> 
> oh HEY someone made fanart of this!!!! please look up @may-darling on tumblr and look at her amazing art! https://may-darling.tumblr.com/post/188995556552/i-drew-some-beatrice-and-benedick-from 
> 
> this literally made my entire week
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: conversations about assault, abuse, and trauma. Please practice self care! I will post a tl;dr next chapter.

## 

Chapter Eleven

Bea, Hero, and Margaret arrived at the apartment Friday evening. Margaret had spent the holiday with her family in a suburb on the other side of San Francisco, and she chattered about how her sisters and brother were doing in school and how much she had missed her _abuelito’s_ cooking. Her _abuela_ had packed her enough leftovers for the three of them to feast for days. Tupperware full of beans and rice, enchiladas, tortillas, empanadas, and cooked and frozen tamales filled the spare seats in the back. Not for the first time, Bea mourned not going to Margaret’s for Thanksgiving.

There was the usual bustle when they all arrived back from a trip, coats hanging and shoes tossing and suitcases being shoved into their bedrooms unpacked. The only sign that anything was different was a single, brief moment of quiet at the end of all the bustle, when Hero stood in the middle of the living room in her pajamas and looked around like she suddenly wasn’t sure where she fit in the space. 

“Hero?” Bea asked hesitantly. 

“I’m okay,” Hero said. She smiled at Bea, tired and sad, but not forced. “I think I was expecting to collapse like a Jenga tower. But I feel surprisingly okay. Let’s watch something! Did you see they put _The Spy Who Dumped Me_ on Hulu?”

Bea and Margaret went along with whatever Hero suggested - partially because _The Spy Who Dumped Me_ was a good bad movie, but also because there was very little Hero could ask for right now that the two could deny. They spent the night eating tamales and one of the tupperwares of rice and beans (it was amazing how even for a gathering of almost twenty, they _still_ had all of these leftovers).

For a blessed twenty-four hours, Bea really started to think things were going to be okay. 

It starts, as so many bad things do, with a text.

Bea hadn’t even been paying attention when it happened; she was trolling the school databases for more resources for her thesis all afternoon while Netflix played in the background and the three women worked. She wasn’t even sure which text it was, when Hero was casually flipping through her phone for a break between math problems. But at one point she looked up, and Hero was leaning against the coffee table from her spot cross-legged on the floor. She rested her head in her hand, her expression listless.

Margaret noticed, too. “_¿Qué pasó, cariña?_”

“It’s nothing, I just - got a text,” Hero sighed. She lifted her phone higher and read aloud, “‘Hey babe, we should talk. This semester is getting super crazy for me and I gotta take a step back for a bit. You take care.’ Peace sign emoji.”

“Who the fuck sent that?” Margaret asked. Bea’s stomach sank as she guessed the answer.

“Lucas,” Hero said. She blinked, tears rising to her eyes and she swiped them away. “What shitty timing.”

Bea didn’t say anything. Shitty timing, indeed.

That wasn’t entirely fair, though, Bea reminded herself. Lucas still didn’t know anything had happened Tuesday night. He was a business major with finals coming up. He was a senior getting ready to graduate and apply to jobs. Hell, even Bea was getting antsy as she realized that fall semester was winding down. Lucas needing to cool the jets on his relationship with Hero immediately after the party was probably just a coincidence. The end of the semester felt a lot closer this side of Thanksgiving.

But some bitter, cynical part of Bea knew that it couldn’t be that easy.

Margaret was still bitching to Hero (“Are you telling me that was the talk? That’s not a talk, dumbass, that’s just a text. What a cock.” “Margaret -” “What a bitch.” “_Margaret_.”). Bea sighed and stood up, grabbing her keys. 

“I’ll be right back.”

“What - where are you going?” Hero asked. Bea grinned back wolfishly over her shoulder.

“To key Lucas’s car.”

“He doesn’t _have_ a car -”

"Well, someone's about to have a bad night!"

Bea shut the door. There was a CVS across the street, which was the second most convenient thing in the world. The most convenient was the little college liquor store right next to it. Bea snagged some of the single-use face masks and exfoliants, as well as the glitteriest, gaudiest nail polish colors she could find. She was back in the apartment less than ten minutes later and she tossed the shopping bag onto the table.

“Spa night!” She announced. 

It had the intended effect as Hero’s eyes lit up. “Ooh, yes, mask would be great right now. And you got new pore strips! Ugh, let’s do them and compare the gunk in our skin.”

“I _love_ you,” Bea said, and the three went into the bathroom to start the routine. 

Twenty minutes later, they were all sitting around the coffee table, peeling the papers off their noses and comparing the gunk. Hero’s pores were the best tended, while Margaret and Bea’s were both little forests of grossness. Then came the exfoliating part of the saga, and then, finally, the hydrating masks. The cool cucumber-melon feel of the mask was soothing after removing what felt like a pound of dead skin from her face.

At last, the three sat in a circle on the floor. Hero went through a kick in high school where she constantly did her nails, so she now was giving the other two manicures. For several minutes, they sat quietly as Hero leaned over Bea’s hands and tried to set her hopeless cuticles to rights.

“He didn’t rape me, you know.”

Bea’s hand jerked as she started, Hero’s intstrument of torture (“it’s called a cuticle pusher, calm down”) skittering over the sensitive skin of her nails and scratching her. Bea hissed at the pain and Margaret quickly yanked some tissues from the box and passed them to Bea. She put some pressure on the nail and gave her other hand to Hero when her sister gave her an impatient look.

“I, ah, wasn’t sure,” Bea said.

“Well, considering you’ve been walking on eggshells around me the past few days, that much was obvious,” Hero said. She efficiently pushed back the skin around her cuticles. She was quiet for a few long minutes.

“You call tell us,” Bea said. “I’m sorry I jumped.”

Hero didn’t respond immediately. Finally she said, “It’s okay if you don't want to hear it. I know it’s a difficult topic for you.”

“That was a long time ago,” Bea said casually. Hero shot her a withering look.

“Trauma doesn’t contextualize,” She said. Then she sighed. “It’s just - I hate to talk about this, because I know what it brings up for you.”

“But I’ve had time to rebuild,” Bea said. “Just say it, okay? And if I can’t handle it - which I can - I’ll tell you.”

“We’re _both_ here for you,” Margaret reminded her, tucking her chin into the nook between Hero’s shoulder and neck. Hero leaned her head against Margaret’s.

“Besides,” Margaret said, “It’s like those pore strips we did, yeah? It’s got to come out.”

“Thanks for comparing my experiences to a pimple-popping video.”

“Anytime, _mami_.”

Hero snorted out a soft laugh. “He came up and chatted to me for a bit while I was waiting for a drink at the bar. Then when I got it and turned to leave, he followed me into the stairwell and shoved me against the - well.” Hero swallowed. “You can imagine. I tried to push him away, told him no, but he wouldn’t stop. Then one of the frat brothers grabbed him and yanked him off of me. And I ran.”

She looked through the nail polishes Bea purchased and finally decided to select the neon-pink with golden, star-shaped glitter. She started painting in long, careful strokes. “I spilled my drink on myself when he grabbed me, and I remember all I could think about was how cold it felt on my skin, and someone might slip on the puddle. Isn’t that silly?” She bit her lip, then asked in a rush, “If I was thinking of that, then it can’t have been as bad as I’m remembering it, right?”

“I wonder that, too, sometimes,” Bea told her. “When I think back to - high school.” _To Peter._ “I think, well, I laughed sometimes, right? I enjoyed our dates, his company, right? Am I making things up? It can’t have possibly been that bad, if I laughed sometimes.

Except I didn’t scrub myself clean in the shower, after, for no reason. I didn’t go hide in the bathroom and cry between classes in high school because everything was okay. I didn’t lie to you and mom and dad when I was going to see him because everything was hunky-dory. It was because something was _wrong_. I felt sick to my stomach and depressed and miserable for a _reason_. And yeah, now I know the reasons have words like _emotional abuse_ and _manipulation_ and _coercion_ and _power imbalance_. Just because he never hit me doesn’t mean it wasn’t shitty. Don’t discount your experiences just because you were thinking of something else to survive.”

Bea tilted Hero’s head to look at her. “You feel however you feel right now because you were _scared_. Full-stop. It doesn’t need to be anything more complicated than that.”

Hero’s eyes were wide and glassy. “He didn’t rape me. But I was so afraid he was _going to_. Because if that guy hadn’t intervened, then - I don’t know. He would have. Wouldn’t he?”

“I don’t know,” Bea said. “You can’t torture yourself with the _maybe_. You just try to move on.”

“I’m not sure how to do that,” Hero admitted. “I knew him.”

“Most people do,” Bea said automatically, because her life was a nightmare and she studied this and maybe if she just said facts she would feel less like the contents of her stomach had been replaced with battery acid. _Did you know ninety percent of assault survivors knew their perpetrator? Does that make you feel better? No? Wait, I've got more._

“And he works in the library,” Hero said. She bit her lip, hesitating, then she blurted, “It was John.”

Everything in Bea went still. She felt an enormous bevy of emotions - shock, wrath, betrayal, sadness. But the worst thing that crossed her mind was the absolutely positive, vitriolic confirmation of her worst fears realized crystalizing into _I fucking knew it._

“Huh,” Bea said, forcing her voice to be casual when it was very much not casual. Margaret shot her a look. 

Hero chuckled, a rusty sound. “I had a feeling you could guess. God, I was so _stupid_. I thought he was just an awkward guy. No issue there. Maybe if I’d been more distant? Or never talked to him at the party? Or -”

“Hero, no,” Margaret said, knocking her head against Hero’s. “It makes sense that you feel that. But you didn’t _invite_ any of this. Saying hello to the guy at the bar or at the library desk isn’t an invitation. The only one who’s done anything wrong is him. And while we’re on the subject? Fuck him.”

Hero sighed. “I just feel so exhausted. And tired. And gross. And I have no idea what to do now.”

“You can go to the school,” Bea said. “There’s a rape crisis center near campus. I can drive you.”

“Yeah, except I wasn’t _raped_,” Hero pointed out. “They have real victims to see.”

“_You’re_ a real victim,” Bea said. “Or survivor. Whichever.”

“I don’t want to be either,” Hero said. She finished painting Bea’s nails and grabbed for the top coat polish. “I shouldn’t have to pick.”

“No,” Margaret said. “You shouldn’t.”

“I’ll deal with this in the morning,” Hero said. “And then I’ll say that tomorrow, and maybe if I act like this didn’t happen and everything is okay, everything will go back to normal and I can continue life as usual.” She laughed quietly to herself. “I have homework to do.”

And that broke Bea’s heart, just a little. Junior year was hard enough, with her workload and research and social life making it even harder. Now everything had changed. Hero finished her nails, and Bea leaned to rest her back on the couch. She splayed her fingers out over her thighs to let the polish dry. Fuchsia stood out against her pale skin and the golden, five-pointed stars glittered in the lamplight. She loved how Hero could still look for the brightest colors and find the stars in every night sky.

She watched Hero lean over Margaret’s fingers, stroking gold over the nails. A little package of red, stick-on decals shaped like Christmas bulbs sat waiting on the side. And a final set of dark blue sat beside a set of golden, star-shaped stickers. 

A light in the dark. Hero had been that for Bea once. And now Bea needed to return the favor.

~

The next few weeks passed in a blur. In the rush of end-of-semester papers and finals, the three had almost no time to talk about the massive elephant in the room. As time went on, Bea increasingly noticed Hero shutting down and withdrawing into herself. She did almost nothing except work, eat, and sleep, all in descending order. Hero never said anything, but Bea suspected she was having nightmares. She knew because hers were back, as well.

It had been years since Bea woke up shouting, her legs tangled in her sheets and sweating through her t-shirt. Years since she woke up with clammy hands and her heart pounding and her throat sore with unshouted _no’s_. Her skin still remembered hands that had never let go, no matter how hard she pushed - manipulating and controlling and coercing like a marionette on a string.

So Hero was falling apart, and Bea was coming apart at the seams, and Margaret was at her wits’ end trying to support them both and not being sure how (but at least she could cook, thank goodness, hearty soups and homemade _sopapillas_ and on a night she needed to take a break from the work, homemade enchiladas). And because of his busy schedule, she hadn’t seen Ben in nearly three weeks. And she missed him, and she was angry at herself that she missed him, and angry at Hero for putting this in her head, because of course Ben didn’t like her, and wasn’t that a childish thing to think - but then she got angry at herself for being angry at Hero, and then she got even angrier because she remembered this entire mess was _John’s fucking fault_ and he was just _wandering campus_ like everything was fine when it wasn’t fine, and one time Bea had seen him in Starbucks getting coffee and she had nearly lifted up a chair and broken it over his head. 

In short, Bea was in a towering temper when she pushed open the door to the laundry room on the last Friday night before Reading Period and saw Ben sitting there in their usual spot. And when had it become _their_ spot? This was a fucking laundry room, in the basement of their shitty student housing, and Bea almost picked up a blanket and shrieked into it, but he had already seen her have a panic attack and probably didn’t need to see her screaming like a Banshee at this point.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Bea said bluntly. Ben blinked, surprised. He had _Iron Man 2_ open on his computer, title screen paused, and Bea immediately felt guilty for snapping at him before her anger reared itself all over again.

“It’s Friday,” Ben said, as if that explained everything. 

“So was last Friday,” Bea muttered mutinously under her breath. Her stomach spiked again at the memory of sharp disappointment when she had gotten downstairs last week and he had not been there. He was often late, but after a wash cycle - she had waited in the _basement_ for nearly _forty minutes_ for him, and he hadn’t come, and he hadn’t texted, and why would he text? They weren’t dating or anything. Except she _wanted_ to date him but she couldn’t date anyone right now when her sister was a mess and everything was a mess and Bea was ready to fly off the handle at the next minor inconvenience. 

“I’m sorry,” Ben said, because he was a reasonable human man, “I had a group project and my phone had died.”

“Real fucking responsible, that,” Bea said, shoving quarters into the coin slot and starting the wash cycle. She looked back at Ben and saw his irritation.

“I said I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I heard you.” What were they arguing about, even? Bea hadn’t even texted _him_. About this. Or anything. In a few weeks. They hadn’t talked since Thanksgiving, when he held her hand all Prince Scruffy and told her he would get through this and so _what_ if that’s what she thought of when she woke up at three in the morning now? Of how warm he was, and funny, and unexpectedly kind under his bastard persona, and _very_ unexpectedly sexy, which had to be wrong to think and why was _everything_ she felt these days wrong somehow? Wrong, bad, guilty, angry, and being with Ben who made everything just the tiniest bit _better_ felt like slapping Hero in the face. So who cared if she ruined it all? 

He didn’t even like her. 

“Okay, what the hell is going on here?” Ben asked. “Did I miss something? Did something happen?”

“Yeah, a thing or two happened in the past couple weeks. Maybe you heard about it when you practically broke into my apartment,” Bea snapped. 

“What - is this about Hero?” Ben asked. “Did something else happen?”

“Does something else _need_ to happen?” Bea demanded. “What happened is already enough for everyone to deal with. You’d know that if you had even fucking _bothered_ to reach out in the past three weeks.”

“I - ” Ben started to say before stopping himself short. He worked his jaw, biting back saying something that Bea dearly hoped was scathing because she could _really_ use a row right now, and also that motion had _no right_ to be as attractive as it was, was this why she had been so pissy with him the past few years?

But when Ben turned to her, it was with an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face. It made Bea’s stomach churn all the more, and a terrible cold, clammy feeling made her palms break out in a nervous sweat.

“I’m sorry this is happening. Okay? I’m sorry I didn’t reach out the past few weeks.” Ben said. His voice was tightly controlled. “I’m sorry that you’re dealing with this. But I won’t be your emotional punching bag. Find someone else if that’s what you’re after.”

And he marched out of the laundry room. 

~

Laundry was a lot faster when Bea had full run of the six machines downstairs. But it was a lot quieter alone. Ali Wong was a lot less funny when she was fighting with Ben.

She actually couldn’t think of a time she and Ben had actually _fought_. They bickered and bantered and circled and went quiet and then went back for seconds once they had each come up with some new one-liners. She had never seen Ben angry, let alone angry at _her_. It made her feel guilty, terrible, about two inches tall. 

_Some growing you’ve done,_ Bea told herself as she took the elevator back to the top floor. She heard the words in her therapist’s voice, the genuine praised turned mocking in her wallowing self-pity spiral. _You should be really proud._

Bea unlocked the door and stepped into the apartment. Margaret and Hero were on campus in the astronomy library, seeing that Hero still needed to work on the computers and John still worked there. The trio had come up with a schedule to switch off nights Bea and Margaret attended with Hero so she could do her work. Bea still remembered the hot, sick swell of rage she felt when she saw John working the front desk. She had dearly imagined scooping up the model antique telescope on display and cracking it over John’s head, but Hero had caught her arm and tugged her along to hide in the very farthest back corner. 

A light on the balcony caught her attention. Standing alone on the balcony, a light dusting of snow over his shoulders and hair, was a blurry but clear silhouette of Ben. 

Bea almost marched into her bedroom and slammed the door behind her. She didn’t need his pity, his patience. She didn’t crave his comfort or the way he made her smile. She didn’t feel terrible and fear she had fucked this all up.

But even scarier was the very real possibility that if Bea didn’t join him out there, she would never meet him on the balcony again.

She put her basket in her room and went to the kitchen. This didn’t merit just an apology. It needed a peace offering. Bea went to the cupboard and pulled out the cinnamon, sugar, nutmeg, milk, and cocoa powder. 

Ben was sitting in the plastic lawn chair when Bea stepped outside finally about ten minutes later, wrapped in her downy winter coat and Hero’s borrowed Ugg boots (“This is _so_ 2008, Hero.” “Do I look like I care? They’re _so_ comfy.”) He was staring at his phone, but his fingers were not flicking across the screen.

_He must be so cold,_ Bea thought. Just waiting out here for her, like she had waited last week. 

Bea stood at the balcony, feeling awkward as she hovered. Ben still had not looked up from his phone, but he was no longer typing, and she could tell he was not reading anything on the screen. He tended to purse his lower lip in a pout when he was thinking, and that wasn’t quite what she saw, and when had she noticed that? Why was her stomach churning and her heart pounding as she reached out and set the travel mug on his side of the balcony? The mug sat there between them, and for one wild moment Bea was afraid Ben would knock it over.

But Ben reached over and took it, overlong sleeves of his hoodie flopping over his wrists. He carefully removed the cap and sipped the cocoa. Relief so strong she almost cried again bubbled up her throat. He looked up at her, one eyebrow raised.

Bea took a breath. “I’m sorry. I…have a bad habit of speaking before I think, and a lot of that tends to be harsh. Like what I said to you. I was tired, and cranky, and mad, and I took it out on you. And you didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry.” She nudged her toe at a clump of dirt that had fallen from one of Margaret’s flower pots. “I just...I’m so angry. All the time. And it bottles up and I don’t know how to talk about it, and I _can’t_ talk about it to Hero. She’s dealing with enough. So’s Margaret. And then I feel like I’m being selfish for thinking about my feelings at all when this is happening, and I’m so angry and sad and this brings so much up, and - ” She stopped. Ben looked up at her sharply.

“It was a long time ago,” She said softly - placatingly? “In high school. It was before we met. ”

That didn’t seem to soothe Ben at all, if his stormy expression was anything to go by. But he stood up on his side of the balcony, looking down at her. Bea stared up at him, studying his expression for any minute change. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for - pity for being small, broken, a victim? Disappointment that she was not as untouchable as she projected? Anger for all her grandstanding?

But he only held her gaze and looked at her the way he always had. As if nothing in the world could change the way he thought of her. For the first time that brought something like comfort. 

And finally she realized he was waiting for her to finish.

“And I just want someone to talk to,” She said. She looked back down into her mug, watching the way steam rose from the spout. It was still too hot to drink.

“I could be someone,” Ben offered, breaking the silence. Bea’s head snapped up. Ben gave her a small smile - a _smile,_ not a grin or a smirk. It was warm. Bea smiled in return.

“I’d like that.” She held up a finger. “But in _equal_ measure. You listen, I listen. A fair bargain.”

“Almost like a friendship,” Ben teased. He held out a hand to shake. Grinning, feeling lighter than she had in weeks, she grasped his hand to shake.

“Holy _shit_, your hands are like ice,” Bea cried. She set down her own mug of hot chocolate and wrapped her hands around his fingers. They were so cold it almost hurt. She ran her hands over his palms, the fine hairs over his fingers, her thumbs tracing his wrist. 

“Only you would need to shake hands on something like friendship.” Ben’s voice sounded odd. Forced levity covering an undercurrent that made Bea’s stomach churn. She looked up at Ben and realized the situation they were in - standing outside in thirty degree weather, holding his hands in both of her own. The balcony light brought his face into sharp relief, shining over his cheekbones and jaw, glinting off his hair. His cheeks and nose were red from the cold and snowflakes were caught in his lashes. The mountain valley and college town and campus spread out in the scenery around him, and Ben was looking at her like she was the only thing he could see. 

And Bea knew this was a turning point. She knew they needed to finally talk. 

“Is that all we are?” Her voice was quiet. _Is friends all we are? It’s totally fine if we are because friends totally hold hands and stare at each other in the snow all the time, just tell me know because if you just want to be friends it’s going to break my heart, just a little. _

Ben’s hands turned in hers, fingertips gracing over the lines of her palms, over the back of her knuckles. His fingertips were still cold, but they left something like cold fire over her skin when he touched her. Bea would have scoffed at the terrible prose if she felt less like everything hung in how he replied to this. 

“No.”

Bea swallowed. Ben’s voice was slightly hoarse, like he was finding it just as difficult to breathe as she was. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Okay,” Bea said, her mind spinning into free-fall. “Okay. Cool. That was what I hoped. I mean - the vibe I got. Because the - “ She squeezed his hands, because he was holding her hands and she didn’t want him to let go. She beamed. “Cool.”

“Cool,” Ben agreed, and he smiled, dimples coming out, and what does one do in this situation, when their arch nemesis/family friend/next door neighbor actually returned your feelings? Bea wasn’t sure if she was supposed to hug him, or kiss him, but the balcony was in the way, and wouldn’t that give the street below a show, and -

The smile fell from her face. “Hero. Oh, god. Ben, I’m sorry, I -” She swallowed. “I can’t do this right now. Not yet. I just - this is such a mess, and I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to handle Hero _and_ you, not that you _need_ to be handled -”

“By all means, Bea, handle me,” Ben said with a wink, eyes glittering and _fuck_ that was _not_ fair, and Bea almost told him so but then he squeezed her hands once. “I know it can’t happen right now. It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re - you’re okay waiting?” Bea asked. 

“It’s been three years in the making. I can wait a bit longer.” 

Bea considered that before nodding. “Okay. For now, we work on being friends. In public, not just the laundry room. And we text and communicate and I don’t blow up and you over small things that aren’t your fault.”

“I think that’s more than fair,” Ben agreed. 

“Okay,” Bea said. “And we check back in after winter break?”

“I’ll still want to date you then, too, Bea,” Ben said sardonically. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and all that, you know.”

“Hush,” Bea said, though the severity of it was offset by her grinning so hard she thought her face might split. “Well - I’m going to go to bed. I’ll think of you.”

Ben groaned. “Now _that’s_ just cruel, Bumblebee.”

“You said you’d _never_ repeat that!” Bea cried. “And - ew! No! Well, not ew, but - no! Fuck!”

Ben laughed, the sound sharp and crystal clear in the night air. “You’re adorable, you know that?” He raised her hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of her knuckles. “Get some sleep. Finish finals. Help your sister. We’ll sort out the rest. Goodnight.”

“Night,” Bea echoed, and she watched as Ben went back into his apartment.

Bea slept soundly that night, and no nightmares found her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi thank you for making it through this!! i...have a lot of experience on this topic, so i really appreciate people bearing with me as i tell this story. shakespeare hmu let's talk. 
> 
> please utilize the resources below:  
national domestic violence hotline (us): https://www.thehotline.org/  
national teen dating hotline (us): https://www.loveisrespect.org/  
national sexual assault hotline/RAINN (us): https://www.rainn.org/  
national domestic violence hotline (uk): http://www.nationaldomesticviolencehelpline.org.uk/
> 
> was anyone going to tell me i was just copy/pasting a typo or did i need to edit my own shit and find that myself


	13. Interlude III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> winter break goes by in a flash.
> 
> cw for more conversations of trauma, abuse, and assault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry for the delay! i've been at a writing block, and then i sat down last night and this all poured out. as apology and a palate cleanser, prepare for shameless fluff. please enjoy!

## 

Interlude III

Being friends with Bea was not that different from not being friends with her, Ben found, except for all the ways it was.

Bea-as-a-friend texted when someone said something silly in class and she was trying not to roll her eyes out of her head. Bea-as-a-friend commiserated with him when the school computers froze in the middle of his analysis and fucked up half of his data entries. Bea-as-a-friend sent _memes_. 

Bea-as-a-friend brought him coffee one night as he finished a paper, gently shaking him awake from his position pillowed on his arms. Bea-as-a-friend stayed with him that night, writing side-by-side and juggling their time with good-hearted snipes and companionable silences. 

They get through finals with minimal bloodshed - a joke Ben never understood until Bea told him how the girls’ periods were synced up and they all spent Reading Period with PMS and all had their periods during finals, which really did put Ben’s entire life experiences in perspective. He wasn’t sure _he’d_ be able to fully focus on a math exam if he was worried about bleeding through the seat of his pants.

Ben finishes the semester with three A’s and two B’s. Bea makes three A’s and an A-. And Hero, Bea tells him in the laundry room before they go home for break, toasting to the end of the semester with the first _Avengers_ movie, a DiMaggio’s deep-dish, and Ben’s homemade Eggnog - Hero received straight A’s for the first time in her college career.

“You don’t sound thrilled about that,” Ben observed.

Bea shrugged. “It’s complicated.”

“Tell me.”

Bea knocked her shoulder against his. “It’s like this. She’s been working really hard all semester, and I’m proud to see that hard work come to fruition. But I also know that this hyperfocus on work comes because she’s trying not to focus on other things. And if she can think about her work, and focus on her grades, it’s something she can control, you see? It’s really common in - well.” Bea shrugged.

“You know so much about this,” Ben said. He felt a bit dumb right after he said so. Hadn’t she been yelling about this exact topic for years? On Facebook, on Instagram, at family gatherings. He felt stupid for not having guessed, long ago, that this kind of passion wasn’t something a person just stumbled upon. It was a path that people seemed more pushed down, their eyes opened to the ugliness of the world before they were ready for it. Ben found he was more observant of these issues just from his incidental involvement in Hero’s experience. He couldn’t imagine how it must be to survive something like that.

Well - he knew Bea. So maybe he could imagine better than he had thought. But that was not a topic he was going to bring up himself. 

The rest of the night went smoothly and they finished the movie. They said goodbye at the elevator, as Ben and Pedro were flying out to JFK International at an ungodly hour the next morning. 

“Keep in touch,” Bea told him with a smile, and then she leaned up to kiss him on his cheek. Ben fell asleep that night grinning like a loon and committing the feel of her lips and the scent of her hair to his memory.

~

_Ben, 4:42am_

_Oh god. Oh lord. This is hell. I’m in hell, bumblebee._

_Bea, 10:28am_

_I told u not to call me that_

_Lmao that sucks_

_I just woke up_

_Ben, 11:45am_

_Heartless, i say. _

_Bea, 11:46am_

_It’s bc my heart is with you_

_Ben, 11:46am_

_BEA_

_You can’t just text that_

_I’m liable to do embarrassing things like make very manly sounds aloud in the airport_

_But i’m going to screenshot that and make it my lock screen_

~

_Pedro, 11:48am_

_Wtf are you texting Ben._

_He just squeaked like a 8yo girl in public_

_Bea, 11:50am_

_That’s our secret_

_Pedro, 11:55am_

_gross_

~

Bea and Hero had been silent for almost half an hour on their drive home when Hero spoke up.

“Are you going to see Viola while you’re in town?”

Bea blinked herself out of her Driving Reverie, surprised at the mention of her therapist. “Uh, yeah. We check in with each other every time I’m back in town. Why?”

Hero hesitates for a moment. “I’d like to see her, if I can.”

“I’m assuming not to say hello,” Bea said before she could stop herself. Hero rolled her eyes and took a sip of her coffee. 

“No, Bea,” She said. “Not to say hi.”

Three days later found Bea sitting on her phone in Viola’s waiting room, taking Buzzfeed quizzes and sending them to Ben and her group chat with Hero and Margaret. The door opened and Hero stepped out. Bea shoved her phone in her purse and stood up, studying her sister - she was pale and wan, but she showed no signs of a breakdown. Instead, she flashed Bea a small grin and held up her hand.

“Tagging out,” She said.

“Tagging in,” Bea said, and she high-fived her sister and walked into her therapist’s office.

Viola’s office was unlike any other therapist’s that Bea had been in, which was part of why she had ultimately decided to come back. Viola was blonde, tanned, and strong, her corner desk full of photos of her and her family surfing together. The rest of the office had the same sea motif - blue walls; soft, sand-colored couches; floaty, white gauze curtains; white string lights arced over the walls; photos of the beach were on the walls that weren’t full of books. A candle that smelled like the ocean was burning in the corner. 

Bea sunk into her favorite squishy spot on the couch with the ease and comfort of familiarity. “How’ve you been, Viola?”

“Normally, I’m the one who asks that,” Viola said sardonically. “But things are going well. More clients coming in. I’m taking an LGBTQ client needs training certification seminar. How’s school?”

“It’s alright,” Bea said. “I got all A’s, even if one was an A-minus. How’s my sister?”

Bea expected Viola to tell her that she could neither confirm nor deny that she was seeing her sister. To her surprise, Viola smirked like she had expected this question, and said in a reassuring tone, “She’s doing about as well as can be anticipated in an experience like this.”

“Really?” Bea asked, surprised. “Can you actually tell me that?”

“It would be a waste of all of our time to pretend I’m not seeing your sister when you high-five like you’re at a basketball game when you switch spots on my couch,” Viola told her. “Moreover, I know that you two are already talking about your trauma together, which means most of the things we talk about, you’re going to learn anyway. I don’t think it will help either of you to act like you’re not going to talk to each other about this when so much of your healing is dependent on your relationship and the way you rely on each other. And finally, she gave me her permission to tell you that much, so I’m not breaking any kind of doctor-patient confidentiality. It’s not exactly standard business practice, but this works for the situation.”

“Huh,” Bea said. “That’s cool of you. Thanks.”

“I’m very cool,” Viola said. Then she leaned back in her chair, putting on what Bea had called her “mind-reading face” in high school. “So, how are you doing with all of this?”

Bea had been seeing Viola for far too long to have any scruples in telling Viola everything: from her initial bad feelings about John, to her early panic attacks, to her intermittent rage against the man who hurt Hero, to her returning nightmares.

“And the thing I feel the worst about?” Bea asked aloud. “Is that I knew something was up with John, but I actively put aside my worries and brushed myself off. Like I did with Peter back in high school. I knew something didn’t feel right, and I ignored it.”

Viola blinked slowly, tilting her head. It’s one of the little tics that she had that let Bea know Viola was about to ask a question that would stop Bea dead in her tracks.

“Do you blame yourself for what happened to your sister?”

Bea tossed her head back and laughed hollowly. “Damn, Viola. That’s a good one.”

“Thank you. I’m rather proud.”

Bea’s laughter trailed off, the mirth leaving her face. She thought her answer aloud, as she tended to in her sessions. “I think it depends on how I’m doing that day, or how Hero is. On the good days, I know that the only person at fault is this guy. It’s easy to be mindful when it’s not right in front of me. But on the odd bad day, or when I can tell something has bothered Hero, I can fall back into that line of thought. I think again about how I knew something was off and I didn’t say anything. Seeing Hero like this brings up all of my old bad days and how it felt in the beginning when I was coming to terms with everything. 

“But then I feel guilty for thinking of myself at all, even when I know that there’s nothing _wrong_ with that. And then there’s the whole thing with Ben, and -”

“Oh, Ben!” Viola said cheerfully. “How’s he doing?”

Bea groaned, shoving her face into her hands. “We’re - dating? Not dating? Some weird middle ground of more than friends but not exactly official.”

Viola lifted an eyebrow. “I think I’m missing a few things.”

So then Bea filled Viola in on the way their relationship had changed in the past few months. Viola listened with nary a question until Bea finished her abbreviated story.

“It sounds like you’ve done a lot of personal and emotional growth in just a few months, Bea. You’ve done a lot of work to set up clear boundaries, and you communicate them clearly. I’m so glad to hear that after your experiences, you’ve found someone who will move at the pace that you set for your comfort. He really sounds like a keeper.”

Bea bit her lower lip, grinning as her cheeks heated up. “He’s actually been really great about this whole thing. He’s pretty great. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. Oh, God, I sound like a Disney princess.”

“Yes, you did,” Viola said cheerfully. “You know, I remember when you couldn’t even say Peter’s name aloud, let alone even consider seeing someone again.”

“I’m not seventeen anymore,” Bea said. 

“People heal at their own pace, Bea,” Viola told her. “I’ve had clients who were back in the saddle, so to speak, in months. I’ve had clients whose experiences were five, ten years ago, and they still had not been intimate with someone since. It’s a complex mixture of resilience, support systems, and brain chemistry, just to start with. There’s no one single healing path or trajectory. You just wake up every morning and get dressed and live life.”

“Yeah,” Bea said thoughtfully. “I guess.”

“Have you told him about Peter?” Viola asked.

“Not exactly,” Bea said. “I’ve mentioned a few things in passing, but I haven’t gone in-depth about it.”

“Do you want to?”

Bea hesitated. “I’m...not sure yet.”

“Okay,” Viola said, as if this was a complete answer. “Well, something to keep in mind. Now, I’d like to go back to those moments of rage you were talking about…”

The rest of her session was spent talking about Bea’s resurfacing trauma symptoms - the rage in new, though the nightmares aren’t. Viola wasn’t too worried about the rage, as mood swings were a common side effect and intrusive thoughts were different than any actual plan on taking John’s head off. The nightmares were more complex.

“I want to talk to my parents about it, but I don’t want to have to answer questions about why they’re back again. And I don’t want to tell Hero, because she’s dealing with enough,” Bea said. 

“What about Margaret?”

“I love her, but I’ve always kind of felt like she was closer to Hero than to me,” Bea said. “And we’re friends, but. I don’t know.”

“Okay. What about Ben? And you don’t have to answer that. It was rhetorical,” Viola said. “You just keep carrying all of this by yourself when you don’t have to. You shut down your own support system without giving them the chance to help you. Let them make the decision on what they can handle and not. Let them set their boundaries as clearly and effectively as you’ve set yours.”

Bea chewed on that thought as Viola closed out the session. They set an appointment for the following week, as they did during Bea’s longer breaks. Hero and Bea managed to get another set of back-to-back appointments, and they went to a little diner down the street from the office to get late-morning omelets and coffee.

“How did it go?” Bea asked, sipping her coffee after she ordered some monstrosity that was more American cheese than eggs. 

Hero shrugged. “We talked about how shitty I feel and some coping mechanisms. What to do when I see him in the library and my options. Since it’s been so long, medical stuff isn’t possible, though since I wasn’t raped that wasn’t ever much of an option anyway.”

“Why?” Bea asked.

“I don’t know, it wasn’t super clear,” Hero shrugged. “It’s moot anyway. And legal stuff would be harder and messier. But maybe I could do something with the school, talk to someone in the Title IX office when I get back. For now I’m just kind of untangling all the knots of thoughts in my head into something that makes sense.”

“That’s great,” Bea said. 

Hero was quiet for a minute, dumping multiple sugar packets into the diner’s bitter coffee. Then she said, “I’m going to tell mom and dad.”

“That’s really great,” Bea said, touching Hero’s wrist. “That’s a great step.”

“Will you be there with me?” Hero asked.

Bea scoffed. “You have to ask?”

Their waiter arrived with their food, depositing platters of eggs, hash browns, and sausage in front of them. Topping it off was a short stack of perfect buttermilk pancakes that Bea immediately cut in half.

“Come _on_, you’re _still_ doing that?” Hero asked. “You’ve done that since we were eight -”

“-And you ate _my_ half of the pancakes, yes, I remember. I’ll never forget. I had achieved the perfect ratio of butter-to-syrup and it was all melted and _perfect_, and _you ate it_. I’m going to bring it up on your deathbed.”

“You promise?” Hero asked. She grinned, slicing off an improbable bite of pancakes and shoving them into her mouth.

~

“Shit, shit, _shit_ -” Ben hissed as he was shot in the head. He set his controller on his lap, rolling his wrists to release the tension. “Good shot, Pedro.”

“Anytime,” Pedro said with a grin, looking away from the Halo screen for a second. It was enough time for another player to snipe his character. 

_You Died_, the game told him, and Pedro tossed down his controller.

“Fuck!” He cried. He lounged back against the couch and looked at the time on his phone. “It’s almost midnight. I’m going to bed.”

“Old man,” Ben said, stifling a yawn behind his hand. Pedro rolled his eyes.

“I’ve barely slept all semester, it seems. It’s all catching up now. Night, man,” He said.

“Night!” Ben called. The guest room he was using was in the basement of Pedro’s residence, which fortunately meant that he had about ten steps to the bathroom to brush his teeth and another ten to fall face-first into bed. Much as he made fun of Pedro, the stress of the semester and finals was catching up to him, as well. He had slept over ten hours the past few nights, and he already felt himself going under. He had to turn his head lest he inadvertently smother himself in his own pillow.

His phone buzzed. He glanced at his phone.

_Bea, 11:57pm._

_Are you still up?_

_Ben, 11:57pm._

_For you? Of course_

_Bea, 11:58pm._

_Flirt_

_Can i call you?_

In lieu of replying, Ben called Bea instead. She picked up in the middle of the first ring.

“Have I told you,” She asked, her voice slightly static over the phone, “that you might be perfect?”

Ben blinked. Just hearing her voice made a knot he hadn’t known he was carrying loosen in his chest. A grin slowly, involuntarily unfurled over his lips.

“You have not. Tell me as much as you like, though.”

“Ugh, forget it. I don’t want it to go to your head.”

Ben laughed. “So, what’s going on, queen bea?”

“I hate that nickname.”

“Well, you’ve told me I can’t call you _bumblebee_. I’m experimenting,” Ben told her. “Killer bee?”

“Shut up,” Bea said, but the soft huff of air into the receiver told him she was laughing while she said it.

“Fine, fine,” Ben hummed. He realized he was kicking his legs up behind him like a teenage girl in an 80s movie. Grimacing, he rolled over onto his back and scooted up until he was leaning against the headboard. Meanwhile, he said, “Well, what can I help you with, Bea?”

Bea hesitated on the other end of the line. “Hero told our parents what happened.”

Ben’s stomach dropped. “And how did that go?”

“Horribly?” Bea said. “I mean, there aren’t many other ways it can go when your kid tells you something like this. But dad kind of went a legal route, asking all kinds of questions. Prosecutor habit, I guess. His department needs training. I hope they’re not all asking questions about if survivors had been drinking, why they were alone, were they _penetrated_ \- ugh.”

“Oh, shit,” Ben said. 

“And _then_,” Bea went on, “Mom got emotional over the whole thing. She can’t believe this happened to her other baby, she failed us, why didn’t Hero tell her over Thanksgiving. You know. Then she starts crying and Hero has to comfort _her_.”

“Seems a bit backwards.”

“It is.” Bea is quiet for a moment. “Then mom asks me how I’m doing with everything, since it happened to me, so now that’s been dredged up.”

“And how are you doing?” Ben asked.

“I’m so -” Bea huffed out a sigh. “This isn’t a knock on you, but I’m _so sick_ of that question. How am I doing? My sister was assaulted. I was assaulted. Yes, my sister’s assault brings up mine. Yes, it sucks. I’m doing _bad_, Ben.”

Ben chuckled. “Yeah, that’s a fair response.”

“I’ve got some good news, though,” Bea said, He could hear the smile in her voice.

“Uh-huh?” He asked.

“My therapist loves you.”

Ben laughed aloud. “Really, now?”

“Yep. Thinks you’re this amazing support system and communicator.”

“So you’ve got competition, you mean.”

Bea laughed. “Viola’s married.”

“She’s got two hands.”

Ben wanted to record Bea’s laugh over the phone - all of her laughs: the surprised huff of air, the droll, sarcastic chuckle from the throat, the carefree, full-bodied laugh from her stomach. All of a sudden he missed her so badly it ached. He wished he could hold her hand, hold her, carry this pain for just a little while. Bea’s sigh broke his chain of thought.

“She suggested I tell you about my past,” She told him. “But it’s too early, isn’t it?”

“Up to you,” He said. “In this - relationship? Maybe. But we’ve known each other for years. And I’ll listen to whatever you want to say.”

The line was silent for so long Ben almost wondered if the call had dropped. Finally, Bea’s voice came back through, sounding slightly choked. “Relationship. Yeah, that’s what this is, isn’t it?”

“I hoped so,” Ben said lightly. 

“Okay.” And from just the word, Ben knew that smile was back. “So, it was like this.”

And Bea told him the story: a tempestuous, headstrong Bea, age sixteen, brash and positive the entire world out there was hers for the taking. Enter Peter, age nineteen, suave and clever and funny and saying all the correct things to a young woman who had never even been kissed. In her words, she was a fly too young and trusting and naive to see the web the spider was building for her. 

It started slowly: pressure to dress differently, put on makeup, sneak out on school nights. To disregard her friends’ and sister’s reservations because they were too young and inexperienced to understand what Bea and Peter had. And so her world and her horizons grew smaller and smaller, and her relationships more frayed, which pushed Bea even more towards Peter. And then he pressured her to show him how much she loved him, and the ways to do it -

Bea cut herself off in that, her voice breaking.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s harder to say aloud than I thought.”

“You’re amazing,” Ben told her fiercely. He wanted to hug her so badly he ached. “You’ve nothing to apologize for, you hear me? Nothing.”

“Well,” Bea said. “Now you know why I was such a bitch when we first met.”

“I didn’t think you were a bitch,” Ben told her. Bea snorted her derision. “I _didn’t!_ A bit sharp, very opinionated, but you were never a bitch.”

“What did you think, then, I wonder?” Bea asked.

“I thought you were hilarious,” He said honestly. “Really. Both in terms of stupid humor and in clever little quips. And you were so smart. Seriously, it was like you had read _everything_ I had. And seen it. And you weren’t half-bad to look at back then, either.”

Bea giggled. “I thought the same about you, you know.”

“Oh, I do. Remember when you poured your drink on yourself the first time we were at the lake house, and I took my shirt off to dive in?”

Ben couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like Bea pushed her face into her pillow and let out a small shriek. “I did _not!_ You hit my arm with your shirt!”

“Maybe a little. I’d been doing crunches and wanted you to see.”

“I did.”

And there was an undercurrent to the words that made Ben sit up straight: something warm and familiar and sultry. Ben swallowed. “Well. Good.”

“You know, I haven’t asked,” Bea said, changing the subject, which was merciful of her. “How was it that you were as well-read as I was? I mean, I know you’re smart, and clever, and can read -”

“You’re coming on pretty strong, Bea, I’m not sure how I feel about it.”

“- Shut _up,_ anyway, what was it like for you growing up?” Bea asked.

Ben didn’t answer right away. In fact, he was silent long enough that Bea backtracked, saying, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push. But you’ve been so supportive, listening to me, and - and I realize I haven’t done that in return. And I want to, Ben. I really do. If you’re okay with it.”

For the first time Ben was grateful Bea wasn’t here to see him. He blinked rapidly, willing his eyes to stop watering. _I miss you,_ he wanted to say, and then he realized he could.

“I miss you,” He said. His voice was rough with everything he wasn’t yet ready to say, emotions he wasn’t ready to put a name to.

“I miss you, too,” Bea said. “It’s...really good to hear your voice.”

“Is it?” Ben asked, letting out the full brunt of the accent.

“Yes, and now you’re distracting me, and I won’t have that right now,” Bea laughed.

Ben smiled. “Alright. I’ll tell you the tale of my sad childhood.”

Ben knew that Bea knew he was raised by a single mother. But she didn’t know it was because of a doomed, star-crossed romance of a working-class Scottish girl and an engineer on assignment from Spain. His parents fell in love, had a baby, were set to be married, and then his father went back to Spain and never came back. His mother juggled two, sometimes three jobs to support them as Ben grew up, and therefore she wasn’t able to be around as much as either of them would have wanted. It was left to Ben to take care of himself, hence the voracious reading. It led to him studying Spanish, studying engineering, as if trying to build a bridge to the father who hadn’t wanted him.

“What a bastard,” Bea said emphatically. Ben laughed.

“Yeah, I suppose. But it’s in the past. And I think ma did alright.”

“She did more than alright,” Bea said fiercely. “Ben - _Ben._ Do you know how amazing you are? You’re funny and you’re clever and you’re so kind and you work _so_ hard. You’ve taken on this burden of supporting me and Hero through this when you had absolutely no obligation to do so, and you haven’t complained for a single moment, even when I’ve laid like five years of emotional _junk_ at your feet and jumped down your throat.”

“I’d love for you to jump down my throat, Bea,” Ben said weakly.

“Hush, you won’t distract me, I’m on a roll here,” Bea said. “You’ve taken care of me when I was drunk, and when I was sad, and when I was scared, and when I forgot how to breathe. You’re good and patient and giving and you haven’t asked for anything in return. You have a mother who loves and adores you, and friends who put up with your terrible jokes.”

“And you?” Ben said.

“And me,” Bea said, “As long as you’ll have me.” A beat. “Shit, that got really intense. Sorry, that’s too much too fast.”

“Bea, I - ” _I’m going to fall in love with you and it’s going to be so, so easy. I can’t wait._ “I can’t even say how much it means to hear you say that. I -” He swallowed. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Bea told him. “Really. Anytime.”

Ben yawned. Bea chuckled. “Falling asleep on me?”

“If only,” Ben told her. “But it _is_ almost two here.”

“Oh, yeah, time differences. I totally forgot. Get some sleep, Ben,” Bea said. “Thank you for listening.”

“Night, honeybee,” Ben said. “I’ll think of you.”

“I can _hear_ you winking,” Bea laughed. “And...you know, that’s not so bad. I’ll allow it. For now.”

“That works for me. Sleep well,” Ben said, and then the line disconnected. He grinned to himself, pulling up Bea’s contact page and making a quick edit:

_Honeybee_ 🐝💕

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> viola's "he sounds like a keeper" comment comes directly from a quote my therapist sad about my bf. 
> 
> if this chapter has got you feeling some kind of way, you can look for support at any of several resources:  
national domestic violence hotline (us): https://www.thehotline.org/  
national teen dating hotline (us): https://www.loveisrespect.org/  
national sexual assault hotline/RAINN (us): https://www.rainn.org/  
national domestic violence hotline (uk): http://www.nationaldomesticviolencehelpline.org.uk/


	14. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bea has an anniversary. lucas finds out hero's secret in the worst way possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please note the increased rating! it is now M - it probably should have been before, but i have fixed that.
> 
> major CW for victim blaming and discussions of abuse/survivorship. self care!

## 

Chapter Twelve

Bea’s alarm went off at eight a.m. on the first day of classes of her final semester of college.

She grunted into the pillow, hit snooze, and rolled back over.

The alarm ringing a second time probably wouldn’t have been enough to get Bea out of bed, but the smell of coffee and French toast was. She rolled out of bed to get dressed and tied her hair up into a ponytail to find Hero and Margaret already up in the kitchen.

“Hey, what’re you doing up this early?” Bea asked. “You don’t have any classes on Wednesdays.”

She glanced at the girls’ schedules taped to the refrigerator door. She was right: Margaret didn’t have her Deadline Writing seminar until two, and Hero’s classes about the Milky Way and Astrodynamics started tomorrow. But Hero slid Bea a plate of toast, and Bea wasn’t going to turn down good breakfast food.

“It’s not every day your sister starts her last semester,” Hero told her.

“This is too nice,” Bea said. “Did you break my phone charger?”

“Yes,” Hero said blandly. “Another one is on the way.”

“Funny,” Bea snorted. She finished her French toast and poured her remaining coffee into a to-go cup with Ruth Bader Ginsberg’s face on it that read _Women belong in all places where decisions are being made_, a holiday gift from her mother. She put her computer, charger, and pencil bag into her backpack. She went to put in her phone charger, but the port was hanging off the end, frayed wires poking out of the snapped end.

“Hero,” Bea said warningly. She held up the wire and shook it like a snake.

Hero shrugged at her. “I told you!”

Bea groaned and left. She zipped up her jacket in the elevator and tucked her hood up to fight the cold. She pulled out her phone to double check where her Anthropology of Gender: Cross-Cultural Perspectives course was when her phone buzzed with a text. 

_Have a great first day, bumblebee!_ Her mother had written. _Thinking of you today! I love you._

Bea smiled to herself, typing back a quick _I love you, too!_ before braving the wind outside. 

Bea didn’t have any classes with Katherine this semester, but the women’s study program was small enough that Bea was on decent terms with her classmates. She had her first class of the day with Maria and Celia, and her second class, Historical Perspectives on Gender Orientation, was with Mona, Juliet, and Maria again. Then they met in the afternoon at 3:30 for their senior seminar.

“How did we, like, not talk all of last semester?” Maria asked. She tilted her chair back, one leg dangling, the other bracing her against the table leg. She overbalanced and Celia wordlessly caught the back of her chair before she hit the floor.

“Senior year is miserable, is all,” Mona said, sipping her coffee. 

“And we all have wide-ranging interests,” Juliet said. “Plus, half the things in the women’s studies department are cross-listed under other departments.” She pointed between Maria, Celia, Mona, and Bea. “English, Journalism, Anthropology, and straight-up gender shit. Rock on, Bea.”

“And you?” Bea asked. 

“History,” Juliet beamed. “I love making my history professors cry by putting my modern, womanly interpretations on historic documents.”

“Good,” Maria said, and their advisor entered the room. Professor Jessica Shylock was the head of the honors program and Bea’s advisor. She was a petite woman in her late fifties with black hair going silver, her curls fanning out almost the width of her shoulders. Laugh lines wrinkled the skin around her deep-seated eyes. 

“Good afternoon, students,” She said, cutting the chatter short.

Senior Honors Seminar was essentially a bi-weekly check-in and bitch session for all of the honors students. They would meet from 3:30 to 5, discussing their outlines and editing one another’s drafts. Professor Shylock would also review, offer suggestions, edits, and resources, and feed them all because she was a grandmother and a baker, as she was “tired of being shown up by Ariel at Synagogue.”

“I’ll never turn down free food, professor,” Bea promised, popping another lemon square into her mouth as Professor Shylock skimmed her introduction and outline draft.

“Good answer,” Professor Shylock said. “And I think you’re off to an excellent start. I’d just add _why_ you selected these particular episodes from these particular shows, and perhaps move _this_ section _here_. And I suggest adding another few resources _here_ to support your investigation in this area. I know you’re having trouble finding previous work on this subject, but I know a very interesting book I can lend you…”

And so Professor Shylock spent about twenty minutes politely and thoroughly ripping apart Bea’s work thus far, but she ended the conversation with the platitude “you’re off to an excellent start” and a stack of books from her office.

Bea tried not to be too discouraged, especially when she saw that Juliet had already half-written her paper and Maria was doing research in both English and Italian. But Maria told she actually still had no idea what her argument was, and Juliet admitted that she only got so much work written because “I got, like, _super high_ one night and kinda free-wrote. I’m scared to actually reread it.”

“We all feel a little bit fucked,” Celia said succintly, speaking up for one of the first times since the meetings started as they left the seminar. They all crowded into the elevator to the first floor.

“Hear, hear,” Bea murmured. Her phone buzzed and she peeked down at it. 

_Good day?_ Hero had texted. _We made enchiladas for dinner!_

“We should meet up once a week,” Mona was suggesting as Bea typed her answer of _yum! omw._ “When are people free?”

“Never,” Celia deadpanned at the same time Maria said, “Thursday through Sunday!”

“How about Friday?” Juliet asked as the elevator doors opened and they all piled out. “We can bounce between apartments-slash-suites and eat food and bitch.”

“Fridays are taken for me,” Bea said quickly.

“Ooh, that was a quick response,” Maria cried. “Is it a _lover?_”

Bea tried not to cringe as Maria practically spoke the word in Italics. “Well, no, but he - well -”

Bea was saved the horror of having to wonder if Ben’s interest in dating her also extending to sex, which she knew he liked, and she also liked, and which she also wanted to happen, but something about the thought of sex with Ben in the realm of possibility rather than the abstract sent a swooping feeling through her stomach like she’d just missed a step, mostly because she had, literally, missed a step.

It only took a moment for Bea to right herself - she was on the lowest step and managed to regain her balance without even dropping one of her books. But the others noticed her shuffle-steps and heard her cut off, and they all looked at her with varying expressions of interest and glee.

“That’s your answer.” Juliet said.

“If _he_ isn’t now, then he will be soon,” Maria guessed. She sent Bea a wink, making her face flash hot.

“It’s complicated,” She admitted, looking at her feet. 

Celia either noticed her discomfort and took pity on her, or she just wanted to see if they could all meet. “What about Thursday, then?”

The others cheerfully agreed, and Maria made a group chat of all of them together by the time they walked through the main library hall. The library was one of the original buildings on the old campus, its marble floors with their pink-and-gray swirls shining under the warm lights and the light filtering through the stained-glass window over the doors. Bea waved off the rest of her classmates and stopped at the door to zip up her coat for the walk home. Fifteen minutes later she was walking through her apartment door, pink-cheeked from the wind, to find Hero and Margaret putting the finishing touches on a platter of enchiladas.

“What’s all this?” Bea asked, shucking off her coat. She breathed in deeply. The air smelled of meat and cheese and spices, and it was delicious. Bea went to the refrigerator to grab a sparkling water.

“We had the time,” Margaret said cheerfully. Bea would have accepted this had she not seen her and Hero exchange glances behind her back. 

She waited until she was at the table with a plateful of food in front of her to start. “Okay. What’s _really_ going on here?”

Hero and Margaret exchanged another look, blankly surprised.

“Wait,” Hero said, “For real?”

“Uh, yeah?” Bea said. She looked down at her food, then to her sister, then to her food, then to her roommate, then to her food again. “Is there an anniversary I’m forgetting? Do you two have something to tell me? Did you bring home a stray cat again? And if you did, did the small monster pee on my bed again?”

“No, no, no, and no,” Margaret said. “It’s just, Hero said this might be a difficult day for you and to support you how we can.”

“For _me?_” Bea exclaimed. She couldn’t imagine anything going on right now that would make the others pull their attention from Hero and onto her. 

“Yes,” Hero said. “I thought - isn’t it - I thought it was Peter’s birthday?”

Bea blinked. She waited for her insides to seize up and freeze, to go cold in her stomach and hot on her face. She waited for her heart to seize. But she felt…

Nothing.

Bemused, Bea flipped her phone over to double-check the date. The screen read _Wednesday, January 8_ up at her.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

“Huh.” It came out more like a huff of air. “So it is.”

The day made sense now - Hero and Margaret making her breakfast and dinner, her mother’s text, the odd looks. It was the birthday of the man who had made her life miserable for a year and convinced her it was all in her head. A reminder of the worst months of her life.

It _was_ an anniversary, in its way. Peter’s birthday had been one of the final straws that broke their relationship’s back, and Bea’s heart and trust. It had shattered her world. It was the night Hero was waiting in Bea’s bedroom when she snuck back in at three in the morning and held her, held her, held her until she could speak again.

The next time the date rolled around, Bea had stayed in bed all day. The next year, Bea had gotten truly blackout drunk for the one and only time in her life.

Four years later, Bea had gone about her day business as usual. She dated her notes at the top of her computer screen and hadn’t even blinked. It hadn’t even _connected._

“Huh,” Bea said again. With an uncomfortable shrug, she did the only thing she could think to do, and took a massive bite of her enchiladas. Meat and cheese and sauce melted together _perfectly_ in her mouth and also scalded her tongue.

“Ow, _ow_, shit,” Bea mumbled around her mouthful. She put a napkin to her face and covered her open mouth as she did that stupid _hfshashasha_ thing to cool off.

“You suck,” Margaret observed.

“You _forgot?_” Hero asked, amazed.

"I did!” Bea said in a wail. She took a sip of her water to cool off her mouth. “I’m sorry, I feel terrible for completely forgetting all day when you were doing all this!”

“Uh, don’t,” Margaret said, looking at her like she had lost her mind or wasn’t immediately going back in to eat her dinner like it hadn’t just _destroyed_ her mouth. 

Hero was staring at her. “You...really forgot?”

Bea thought for a moment. Aside from her meetings with Viola, and the recent events that have brought these memories to the surface, she realized she couldn’t actually remember the last time Peter had crossed her mind. Bea just went to classes and did her homework and texted Ben and lived her life and she was _fine._

“Yeah,” Bea said thoughtfully. “I guess I did.”

Hero beamed at her. “I’m so, so glad to hear that. It...helps to hear that, actually. To know there really is an after to all this. When did this happen?”

Bea thought, trying to patch the timeline of the past two years in her mind. The days she didn’t want to get out of bed melting into the days she managed to, the days when her work changed from something she did to keep her mind occupied to her passions, something that set her soul on fire.

“I don’t know,” Bea admitted. “I don’t remember when or how. I just know I wanted to get better. I didn’t have a plan on how to be okay again. I just woke up one day and knew I was.”

Hero reached across the table to take Bea’s hand, gripping tight, her eyes shining. Bea gripped her back, returning her borrowed strength back to her sister.

~

“Okay, so,” Bea started, pointing her chopsticks to the screen. “I’m _not_ supposed to want to punch Tony Stark the entire time?”

“Ideally, not the _entire_ time,” Ben confirmed, grinning at her. “But I don’t blame you.”

“Can we skip this one?” Bea popped another piece of orange chicken into her mouth. Ben whipped his head around to gape at her, his expression scandalized.

“You would _dare_ besmirch the sacred Marvel Cinematic Universe watch order?”

Not even the teasing glint in his eyes stopped Bea from rolling her eyes so hard she wondered if she’d pulled a muscle. “At this point? Yes. What’s the next one?”

“_Thor: The Dark World_,” Ben supplied. He laughed at Bea’s dubious expression. “It’s marginally better than this.”

“Does it have Loki being a weird, feral little sorcerer, at least?” Bea asked.

“Yes.”

“Then _please_ can we just skip to that?” Bea begged. Ben laughed, his fingertips going to his laptop’s trackpad.

“Yeah, that’s fair.” He closed out the screen. “Basically all you need to know is that Tony destroys all of his extra suits but actually doesn’t, Pepper saves him, and he promises to scale back on being Iron Man but muses that he will always be Iron Man.”

“Riveting,” Bea said dryly, her tone saying it was anything but. “I’d watch the end, but we don’t have to.”

“No, I’m with you, actually,” Ben said. “Hold this, lass?”

He passed Bea his carton of fried rice with a wink, making Bea accept it wordlessly with a blush. It wasn’t fair that Ben could be so _smooth_, when she got flustered with only a wink and a term of endearment. To get back at him, Bea snagged his abandoned fork and took a bite of an especially tender piece of chicken. Ben looked at her with wide eyes, affecting an expression of utter heartbreak.

“You betrayed me,” He said as he pulled up a bootleg of _Thor: The Dark World._

“You didn’t say not to eat anything,” Bea reminded him. 

“Ah, impaled upon my own sword,” Ben said sagely. “In exchange, I will exact a toll.”

He reached into Bea’s container and speared an especially-perfect-looking piece of orange chicken, popping it into his mouth before Bea could react.

“No! Dammit!” Bea cried over the opening credits. “You monster, you cretin, how could you? I trusted you!”

“Your first mistake!” Ben laughed. There was a beep as his washer stopped. “Oh, shite, be right back - fives!”

“I’m sitting on a washer, I’m not going to take your seat,” Bea told him as he hopped down. She would be lying if she said she didn’t watch him move, the way his muscles moved and pulled under his t-shirt or the curve of his body as he leaned to move his clothes about. Bea had thought she was being subtle, but when Ben spun back around to her, he had a Cheshire grin on his face.

“See something you like, honeybee?”

“More like trying to figure out where you got that stain on your hoodie,” Bea said quickly. Ben grinned and she knew she wasn’t fooling him for a second.

“They got barbeque at a mech-e event. The meat fell out of my sandwich and all down my front in front of the lecturer.” Bea let out a surprised laugh that she tried to stifle and look appropriately sympathetic. “It’s fine, she thought it was funny and we talked about bolts for a little bit.”

“Is that a euphemism?” Bea asked.

“If it was, have no fear: I would only talk about bolts with you,” Ben promised. He sauntered in front of her, hovering close. With Bea sitting on a washer, she was a few inches above him; he peered up at her as he leaned in, bracing himself on his arms on either side of her knees. Ben looked up at her with nothing but light in his guileless brown eyes, a charming grin on his dimpled face. This close, she could see the shades of brown in his eyes and smell his aftershave. He had never been this close to her, and all Bea wanted to do was close the distance between them, her mouth to his, hands cradling his face. She knew he would let her, would let her do anything she wanted with him. 

Which was why Bea leaned back marginally, bringing his handsome face into focus. Still, she couldn’t stop her mouth from beaming down at him. Even if she was scared to commit to more than their tentative relationship, for fear of everything falling apart, she could not deny how safe she felt here, cocooned in Ben’s presence.

“Are you trying to flirt?” Bea asked.

“I am. Is it working?”

“It’s not _not_ working,” Bea laughed. Shyly, she pressed her fingertips to his cheek. It wasn’t enough; she leaned in to press a quick butterfly kiss to the spot her fingers had brushed. “I don’t want to discuss _bolts_ with anyone else, at least.”

Ben accepted her tacit rejection with his usual lightheartedness, his smile threatening to split his face.. “Works for me!”

He jumped back up beside her, and Bea didn’t care that she had missed the first several minutes of the movie and was hopelessly lost.

They made it through about half the movie before their laundry was washed, dried, and folded. They threw out their empty Chinese food containers and crowded into the elevator together. Ben’s shoulder and arm was warm pressed against hers, and she couldn’t stop her lips from curling into a wide smile. These evenings with Ben, wrapped up in the wonderful escapist bubble that was their blooming relationship (and _oh_, it made Bea’s stomach flip just to think the word), were her favorite parts of her week.

The elevator doors opened, and the bubble burst.

The first sign of trouble was the sound of voices bleeding through the walls. It was amazing how quickly Bea’s entire organs felt like they were rapidly rearranging. Her heart dropped into her stomach and her stomach dropped into her shoes. The voices were coming from her apartment, and she forgot her laundry as she set it down outside the elevator doors and hurried over to her front door.

She barely registered Ben’s questions, but his hand was at her lower back when she turned the door handle. The door swung inward and the voices came into focus:

“I didn’t know how to tell you!” Hero was saying. 

“Oh, so you decided to just _not tell me?_” Lucas retorted. “How am I supposed to trust you, then?”

“I thought you had broken up with her,” Margaret snapped. “You know, the text?”

“It was her chance to come clean,” Lucas bit out, “And this isn’t any of your business, Margaret!”

“You _made_ it your business when you came into my apartment,” Margaret snarled. She looked over Lucas’s shoulder, meeting Bea’s eye. There was a light like fire in her eyes, and Bea saw the way her hands clenched into the meat of her arms folded over her chest as she tried to restrain her anger.

“What’s going on here?” Bea asked, stepping inside. Ben shut the door behind them, hovering uncomfortably on the doormat. Bea stepped forward and felt the loss of his warmth like shucking off a blanket.

Lucas spun on her. “I think you know damn well what’s happening here, Beatrice.”

Ben and Hero spoke at the same time:

“Don’t talk to her like that in her own apartment -”

“How did you even find out?”

Lucas whirled around on Hero, only replying to her. 

“How did I find out?” He sneered. It twisted his handsome face into something grotesque. “_That’s_ your concern?”

“It’s certainly one of them,” Hero said. She folded her arms over her chest, mirroring Margaret’s stance. But her shoulders were more bowed - her posture defensive, self-soothing, rather than Margaret’s barely-contained wrath. Lucas clearly did not appreciate the difference.

“It’s all over the engineering department!” He snapped at her. “That you went off and hooked up with some grad student at the Turkey Turn-Up!”

Dimly, Bea mused that it was objectively hilarious to hear Lucas say the words “Turkey Turn-Up” in such a scathing tone. But that humor fell away in the face of what Lucas had revealed.

He _knew_. And _others knew_. Which meant someone was telling people, and as Hero wasn’t likely to, and none of them knew her frat-boy savior, that left only one person. Rage so powerful Bea nearly screamed raced through her, but Hero spoke before she could unleash a torrent.

“I,” Hero said coldly, “Did not _hook up_ with anyone. He _assaulted_ me.”

“Then why hide it?” Lucas demanded. “Why not tell me? Why run away?”

“Because I was terrified!” Hero snapped back. “Because I didn’t know how to process it, or what to do! I felt like it was my fault somehow, like I’d invited it somehow -”

“And did you?”

The words were so unexpected, so vitriolic, that Hero actually took a half step back. “What?”

“_Did_ you flirt with him?” Lucas asked. His voice raised to a yell that echoed off the walls.

It was something to be studied, Bea thought distantly, the way she and Hero and Margaret froze. The blistering attack Bea had been preparing to unleash on Lucas for _daring_ to come into her home with this, for _daring_ to berate her sister when she had suffered enough, died on her tongue, the fire going out as with a cold gust of wind. The words died in her throat as her entire body seized up: fight or flight gave way to freeze, a response conditioned years ago with Peter. Suddenly Bea was sixteen, seventeen again, and a man was yelling in front of her - at her - and as much as she wanted to fight back, her body told her _no, this is how we get through this, this is how we survive._

Freeze like you’re being confronted with a wild animal, like one wrong move will spur an attack.

Hero could have been a statue: her face white, hair golden. Her lips barely moved when she whispered, “No.”

“Really?” Lucas snapped “You didn’t talk to him in the library? Do homework with him? Because that’s what I heard. You didn’t flirt with him at the bar?”

“No!” Hero cried. 

“So I’m supposed to believe you’ve never seen him before? He just launched himself at you?” Lucas snapped.

“Yes!” Hero cried. “He - I mean, I do _know_ him, he’s helped me with homework before -”

“_Helped you with homework_,” Lucas interrupted, sneering. “If that’s what you’re calling it now. I wonder who else has _helped_ you with your homework.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe this! I gave you a chance to explain -”

“Fucking when?” Hero asked. “You didn’t speak to me for the rest of the semester! And then you broke up with me! _Over text!_ When was I supposed to tell you?”

“You didn’t see fit to tell me you cheated on me for two months!” Lucas yelled. “I had to hear it from some asshole in my project group!”

Hero reeled back as if she had been slapped. “That I - what?”

“That you cheated!” Lucas said. “I trusted you, Hero! I really liked you, I thought you were different from all those other girls. And you couldn’t even imagine how much you hurt me? You couldn’t see that?”

If Hero was a statue before, now she was porcelain. She blinked, and Bea watched her shatter.

It wasn’t loud, or messy. She didn’t scream or rage or rant or cry. She remained standing, her ankles and knees holding up her body, her neck holding up her head.

Hero opened her mouth and her voice was calm and eerily collected. Bea knew she was already miles and miles away and that wherever she was, a part of her was never coming back. Part of her sister died right in front of her, and all Bea could do was watch.

Hero said: “You don’t believe me. You don’t believe he assaulted me.”

And Lucas said: “No.”

Hero breathed in, out. Her eyes closed like she hoped that she would wake up in bed when she opened them. They opened again, and everyone was still in place.

“Then we have nothing more to say. Leave.”

Lucas bristled. “That’s it? I tell you how I feel and you -”

“_Get. Out._” Hero ground out. Her voice was hoarse with repressed emotions. There was an expression in her eyes Bea had never seen before.

Lucas whirled around, caught sight of Ben and Bea in the doorway. He made his way to them, his thunderous expression making Bea physically recoil. Ben stepped in front of her, one hand in front of Bea, the other opening the door into the hallway.

“So you’re part of this shitshow, too?” Lucas snapped at Ben. “Is getting your dick wet worth fucking everything up?”

A muscle worked in Ben’s jaw. His hand clenched like he was suppressing the urge to wail on Lucas and deck him square in the face. Instead he said, “She told you to leave.”

Lucas slammed the door on his way out, just because she could. Bea winced at the slam, but the air still felt so much more breathable with him gone. She nudged Ben’s arm aside and rushed over to her sister, who had sat on the couch with the utmost composure.

“Hero?” Bea asked. She squatted on her knees on the carpet in front of Hero, gauging her expression, searching for tears, assessing the damage, seeking a crack in the mask. Hero blinked like she was coming back into herself.

“Well,” she said, and her voice was somehow both light and airy and utterly toneless. Robotic. “Now we know why he texted me.”

“That _cabrón_.” Margaret was physically shaking in repressed rage. Her hands had dropped to her sides, clenching and unclenching into fists. Her nails had left crescent-shaped indents in the skin above her elbows. “_Pinche bastardo, hijo de perra, pinche coño -_” Her litany of Spanish curses trailed off into a yell.

“Margaret,” Bea said sharply. Margaret glanced at her mutinously, but she nodded and came to sit beside Hero. Bea stayed where she was, looking beseechingly up into her sister’s eyes.

“Hero,” She said softly, placatingly. She tried to offer support when she had no idea how to, for what could she say? _Margaret and I can go after that asshole and rend him limb from limb if that will help. I love you, I believe you, I see you._

Hero shrugged. “I guess it’s out.”

“Yeah,” Bea said distantly. That part of the conversation suddenly clicked into place, and she whirled on Ben. “_Yeah_.”

She rose to her feet, stalking to Ben. “Did you know?”

Ben, like a rational man who valued his self-preservation, took a reflexive step back. “Bea -?”

“_Did you know?_” Bea demanded. Angry tears welled in her eyes, and she furiously swiped them away. “Did you know about this?”

“Beatrice.” Ben caught her wrists, made her slow, look at him. She peered up at him and saw the hurt and anger in his eyes - mirroring hers, if the wounds were not as deep. “I swear on my ma’s life, I haven’t heard a thing. You _know_ I wouldn’t let that stand. You know I’d tell you.”

Bea swallowed. Shame made her face flare hot. She admitted, “You’re right. I know you would never. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” He said. At her dubious expression, he squeezed her hand again. “It’s _okay_.”

Bea nodded, stepping back from him and the warmth he provided. She returned to the couch, sitting down heavily. Numbly, Hero tilted to the side, tucking her head in Bea’s lap. Her eyes were glassy and staring ahead.

Because this was where her focus needed to be, Bea told herself, carding her fingers through Hero’s hair. On her sister, who needed all the strength she could give her right now.

Margaret tucked Hero’s favorite blanket, a pink and fluffy monstrosity that she coveted, over Hero’s form. Then she sat on the floor and put on the television, just for something to fill the empty space. Bea closed her eyes as the opening to _Parks and Recreation_ filled the room. She wondered if it was possible to fall asleep here and sleep until this was all over.

“Hey,” Came Ben’s voice. He hovered awkwardly above the couch, looking unsure of his welcome there. “I can leave if you prefer, but I wanted to offer - my ma makes a hot chocolate like you wouldn’t believe. Mine’s not as good as hers, but I can try. C’n I make some for you?”

Hero peered up at him. After a beat, she nodded. “Help yourself, Ben.”

He smiled. It seems he understood the gravity of being allowed to stay and help during a time like this. Without another word he went to their kitchen area, rifling through cabinets for a pot and the mix and milk and who knew what else.

Hero and Margaret watched the show, but Bea found her attention caught on Ben as he puttered around their kitchen. The only lights on in the apartment were the fairy lights around the living room window and a single light over the stove - it seemed Ben understood the unspoken request to leave the lights off, as if the darkness could offer distance and comfort. The oven light caught on his hair, threw into sharp relief the contrast between his dark hair and pale skin and the shadows of his shoulders. It flaunted his tall, slim frame, the litheness of his fingers as he chopped up a chocolate bar he’d plucked from somewhere to toss into the pot. He stirred and Bea caught snatches of a melody he was humming.

Kind. He was so _kind_. Warm and soft and gentle in a way Bea had once thought men weren’t, in a way a much younger, more damaged Bea hadn’t thought she deserved. It had never occurred to her that sassy, snarky, irreverent Ben would _really_, truly and without reservations, step into this darkness with her, and yet here he was. He poured the hot chocolate into cups and ferried them over to them on the couch.

Ben handed her a cup and she sipped. It was heavy and thick and settled in her stomach and settled over her like a blanket.

_I’m going to fall in love with you,_ she thought as Ben came around the other side of the couch. He sat on the armrest beside her, the arm not holding the cup settling on the back and over Bea’s shoulders. She sighed, leaning into him.

_The sun will rise in the east tomorrow; a dropped rock will fall to the ground; and I am going to fall in love with this man._

Who was she kidding? She was mostly there anyway.

“Bea?” Hero asked from her lap. She looked down at her, fingers still pushing her curls back.

“Yeah?”

Hero’s eyes were like steel. “I’m going to report to the school.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! a few notes:
> 
> bea's cohort is based off of my cohort when i was in my history honors seminar. we were a kick-ass group of 5 women. i took them from various other shakespeare plays: juliet from _romeo and juliet,_ (desde)mona from othello, maria from _twelfth night_, celia from _as you like it_.
> 
> margaret's ranting can be translated to: "that bastard/shithead! fucking bastard, son of a bitch, fucking cunt."
> 
> bea's thought about ben at the end of this chapter are pulled from the night i realized i was going to fall in love with him and there was nothing i could do about it. i told him this, and he responded with the "the sun will rise in the east tomorrow; a dropped rock will fall to the ground; and I am going to fall in love with this man" line. line repeated with his permission.
> 
> anyway! as usual, if this chapter has got you feeling some kind of way, you can look for support at any of several resources:  
national domestic violence hotline (us): https://www.thehotline.org/  
national teen dating hotline (us): https://www.loveisrespect.org/  
national sexual assault hotline/RAINN (us): https://www.rainn.org/  
national domestic violence hotline (uk): http://www.nationaldomesticviolencehelpline.org.uk/


	15. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ben is ready for a fight at all times. on a related note, he has a confession for bea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the shorter chapter! i had a really shitty day and just wanted to get this down and out. i hope you enjoy!
> 
> cw: for discussions of assault and victim-blaming. and lucas. i'm just gonna cw for lucas.

## 

Chapter Thirteen

Ben rolled over in bed to grab at his phone when he heard sounds in the living room and kitchen area of the apartment. It was almost second nature now to text Bea whenever the thought arose - be it something goofy or an internet joke or a picture of a flower or, once, a can of beans in the store that he captioned “you.”

_Question_, he typed and sent, adding, _what do i do re: lucas now?_

Bea replied a moment later. _How do you mean?_

_Do I talk to him? Punch him? Ignore him?_

_You don’t have to do any of that_, Bea texted. _We know it’s awkward but we don’t want your housing sit. to get weird or hard bc of this._

_Yeah i know_, Ben replied, _so what do i do with lucas?_

Ben watched in mild bemusement as the three dots showing Bea’s typing appeared, went away, appeared again. Finally she wrote, _do whatever you feel okay with._

_A good-morning nut tap it is_, Ben wrote, and he rolled out of bed. But he needn’t have asked, nor Bea worried: it was actually Pedro who was puttering around the kitchen in a t-shirt and boxers, sending him a sleepy salute with his coffee. Over his shoulder, Ben could see the childish sign Pedro had made on a whiteboard: “It has been 5 days since Ben and Lucas spoke to each other.”

And it was going to be longer, if Lucas kept up the way he was.

Pedro had known something was off as soon as he walked through the door and seen both Ben and Lucas in the living room, eating their two separate dinners (because they had refused to make extra portions for the other), watching the same show with their earbuds in.

“What’s gotten your panties in a twist?” Pedro asked, kicking the door shut behind him and toeing off his shoes.

Ben had clenched his jaw and said nothing; Lucas said “ask Ben” and then refused to comment further. But it wasn’t Ben’s story to tell, and Pedro didn’t think to ask Hero, Margaret, or Bea, so he remained in the dark thinking that Lucas had eaten the last of Ben’s Scottish snacks and not that Lucas was actually secretly a massive, massive dickhead.

Now, a week later, Ben could tell that this was grating on Pedro’s nerves, but he wasn’t going to give up an inch of ground until Lucas apologized. And given the looks some engineering guys had been sending him in the past week, and the Turkey Turn-Up jokes that had suddenly popped up among their senior cohort, that wasn’t going to be any time soon.

Ben pondered their predicament on his way to class, as he was wont to do ever since this whole mess started. He kept turning over the question of _what do I do, how do I help_ with the reminders that _this isn’t about you, give them some space, if they need anything they’ll ask for it._

Just keep the secret and don’t throttle the man who hurt Hero and also don’t cold-cock his former friend who had made the entire situation worse.

For Bea, he’d do it. But also, increasingly, for Hero. And for himself.

Because Ben wasn’t laughing as much as he used to - not just from the situation weighing him down, but because the more he paid attention the more unsavory aspects of the culture of the engineering department stood out to him. The subtle and not-so-subtle jokes, the putdowns, the hypermasculinity, the vulgar comments, the way men who looked like Ben were so interested in excluding those who didn’t. It made him profoundly uncomfortable, now that he pulled his head out of the sand and looked around.

_Life is like this for you?_ Ben wanted to ask the buff black dude, the Indian international student, the girl with the neon blue hair and undercut and piercings.

_You live like this?_ Ben wanted to ask his lab partner for his fluids lab, the lanky dude at the computer next to him, the man who wore his button-ups and loafers to every recitation and spoke over the other female students when they offered answers.

It was exhausting, infuriating, the ego and insecurity the men around him showed every day. All the posturing and promoting and lambasting they did, seeking attention and validation from the same people they scorned.

(Bea told him, when he asked her one day while he was texting her in the computer lab while the computer ran his data set. Dropping phrases like _fragile masculinity_ and links to various websites and papers and it was encyclopedic, the knowledge Bea had on this subject, how she could look at a messy world around them and make sense of it. Incredible, she was incredible).

But he wasn’t helping anyone sitting on his hands. He just wasn’t sure where to go from here.

~

The weather was unexpectedly balmy for late January, rising into the mid-forties. Ben was comfortable enough in a light jacket and hat. The melting slush leaked through his shoes and soaked his socks all day.

Which would have been annoying enough, but things got worse when he went to the computer lab for his data analysis following his lab. He heard a familiar voice speaking above a chorus of hearty guffaws as he made his way in -

“And _then_, she started crying all over me! Like she thought that was going to distract me!” Lucas was saying.

“God, women are unbelievable. They get mad when you accuse them of being emotional but then as soon as you try to have a rational conversation with them, they shut down. Totally nuts,” some other dude Ben had never spoken to replied.

“I was being totally fair, totally rational,” Lucas told them. He was at the center of a group of about three other dudes. Textbooks were piled all around them but none of them were looking at them. It would have been the perfect picture of college chit-chatting if Lucas wasn’t spouting all of his shit out the wrong end. “I sat her down, tried to talk to her - hey!”

Ben’s patience, already frayed and thin, had snapped, and he had slammed the book next to Lucas shut to announce his presence. Loudly, he corrected, “Actually, you barged into her apartment, yelled at her in front of her sister and friends, and intentionally misconstrued everything she said so you could act like a victim, so jot that down.” He eyed Lucas’s little study group. “Since you’ve got such a story to tell. And while I’m at it, this is a quiet study space, designated for engineering majors, so…”

He waved a hand towards the door in a _shoo_ motion. “Fuck off.”

Lucas glared at him mutinously, his cheeks going red from embarrassment or anger or something else, Ben didn’t care. He knew Lucas was going to get pissy and make life at home as annoying as ever, but he could only feel himself grinning as he went to his favored computer spot and sat down.

For a while, Ben sat in silence as he entered what he needed to into his computer program. After a few minutes, there was a tap on his shoulder. He turned and looked up at a woman he vaguely recognized - blonde with glasses and a tattoo on her wrist.

“I heard what you said,” she told him. “To those guys. I just wanted to say thanks. For stepping up.”

She walked away before Ben could respond. He blinked, staring after her. He hadn’t even seen her when he came in, or thought about doing anything more than telling Lucas to go fuck himself and stop telling lies. But he felt...good, having said something instead of nothing. Powerful, strong, like someone who could make a difference. Someone Bea could love.

_Oh,_ Ben thought to himself with a grin. _Oh, I’m going to be so annoying at home now._

He stayed in the computer lab for hours, coding and doing work and working on a lab paper. He texted Bea on and off, each of them bitching about their respective assignments and days. Ben hesitated over telling Bea what he’d overheard - he wanted her to hear it from him instead of the rumor mill or, worse, Hero, but this didn’t feel like something to say over text.

_I’m going to sit out on the balcony,_ Bea said when Ben told her he was coming back to the building around ten. _I need a minute after today. Will you join me?_

_Of course_, Ben replied, and he picked up his pace.

When he stepped onto his balcony fifteen minutes later, Bea was sitting in her favorite balcony chair in an oversized sweater with a fluffy blanket over her knees. Her head was tilted back, a cup of something steaming clutched in both of her hands to keep her warm. Ben wasn’t sure why she was outside so late at night, but the weather made the blanket and warm drink palatable. Ben zipped up his jacket over his sweatshirt and padded out to the balcony to join her.

Bea didn’t tear her gaze away from the cloudy sky as Ben sat in the chair closest to her. “You’ll get cold in just the hoodie.”

“Scottish genes, lass. Northern California is nothing,” Ben said, making himself comfortable. He leaned his head back and turned to look at her. Her cheeks were shining and wet. “Have you been crying out here?”

Bea breathed in, held it, released. “Yeah. Probably be out here a bit longer. I just...I had a bad day.”

Ben was quiet for a minute. “I wish I could help.”

Bea looked at him. Her eyes were glassy in the streetlights shining below them. “Me, too.”

She sounded so weary, so heartbroken. Ben knew how strong she was, how she could bend and shift and never break. She was not breaking here, not by far, but this was like a tea kettle releasing steam. Ben reached through the bars toward her, and without hesitation Bea took his hand.

“My friend saw you today.”

“Which one?” Once Ben might have said something snarky like, _you have friends?_ But now he held her fingers tight, running his thumb over the cold skin on the back of her hand.

“Cordelia. She was on my hall freshman year, we had some intro classes together. Blonde, glasses, a tattoo of a lily-of-the-valley?”

“Oh, that’s what it was,” Ben mused. Then he stopped, turning to her. “_Oh._ How much did she tell you?”

“Everything,” Bean said wearily. “She heard Lucas drop Hero’s name and she could guess the rest. She said that you really gave him a piece of your mind.”

“Of course I did, I couldn’t do anything else,” Ben said. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I just - it felt like something best said in person, rather than over text.”

“That makes sense,” Bea said. She sniffled and wiped her nose on her sweatshirt sleeve. “It’s why I needed to come out here. I don’t know how to tell her. It just keeps going from bad to worse. John tried to talk to her earlier, apparently, when she came into the library. Said hi like nothing was out of the ordinary. Hero ran out after ten minutes, apparently. She and Margaret are in a different library now.”

“That’s horseshit,” Ben said. Bea squeezed his hand in agreement. “How’re things on the going-to-the-school front?”

“There’s an advocate on campus from a local rape crisis center. She has office hours on Mondays and Tuesdays. Hero plans to go in then,” Bea said. “She could get in earlier if she makes an appointment, I’m sure, but she’s not ready for that. She...she thinks that it doesn’t count, or isn’t as serious, if it wasn’t…”

She trailed off. Ben looked at her, watched how the streetlight and blue night sky turned her skin silvery and her eyes big and dark. It highlighted the curve of her cheekbones, her nose, her chin.

“Hey,” Ben said to get her attention. Bea looked at him, face wet and eyes bloodshot and shadowed and freckles dotting her nose and he wanted to connect them like a puzzle. He wanted to tell her, _you’ll get through this, you will all be okay, you are so beautiful, I never want you to feel this way again, please let me help you make sure that never happens._

Instead he said, “You’re my best friend. Did you know that?”

Bea blinked, surprised. “Uh - no? What about Pedro?”

_I don’t want to sleep with Pedro,_ Ben almost said, which would have made Bea laugh, he was sure, but they also hadn’t ever really discussed the potential sexual aspect of their will they-won’t they relationship and now seemed like a poor time to bring it up. Instead, he said, “It’s - different. A different kind of thing.”

“Explain,” Bea said, ever the humanities major. Ben grinned.

“Your sense of humor. Your intelligence. You’re clever, you’re witty, you’re fun to talk to. You get me and I think I get you, too. The more time we spend together the more time I _want_ to spend together. You’re the person I want to text in the morning, and at night, and when I’m frustrated or sad or happy. And I want to be a better man, because you talk about how us menfolk should be, and because it’s right. And I want to be better for myself, but I want to be better for you, too. I want to date you, Bea. I’m in this for the long haul. And you’re my _best friend_.”

Bea’s mouth had fallen open, and her eyes had teared up again. She palmed at her eyes. “Fuck, Ben, how long did you rehearse that?”

“I didn’t, I just talk like that now. That’s your fault.”

“You’re my best friend, too,” Bea said finally. She clutched his hand tightly.

“What about Hero?” Ben asked, turning the tables on her. Bea laughed.

“I don’t want to sleep with Hero,” She said, and she said it so casually and matter-of-factly that Ben wondered if he’d heard her correctly. “We’ve always been on the same wavelength, haven’t we? It just took us a while to get here.”

“I’m glad we did,” Ben said. Bea smiled at him for the first time that night, wide and true and _real_ and it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Me too, Ben. Me, too.”

“Ooh, we need to pick a pet name for me. What do you think of _hubby?_”

“I think I’m ending things before they start.”

Ben laughed, and despite how wrong everything was for them both, nothing felt as right as it did when he held her hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all aboard the anti-lucas train!


	16. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh shit, even with everything happening, bea's still got homework to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for discussions of survivorship, sexual assault/domestic abuse (this is discussed in an academic context, not portrayed as the characters experiencing it).

## 

Chapter Fourteen

The apartment was silent - all Bea could hear were the sounds of the wall clock ticking the seconds by. Ten, twenty, thirty seconds passed. Still Hero sat, still and quiet, absorbing the news that Bea had broken: that to add insult to injury, Lucas had gone around telling anyone in the business program that she was a cheating slut. Bea had been given almost no time to try and figure out what to say to her about it when Hero had no fewer than three messages and two dudes in person come up to her asking her to _help_ with their stats homework, wink wink.

One had actually said that. _Wink wink._ And that had told Hero everything she needed to know about how gracefully Lucas was handling this whole thing.

Margaret was angrily eviscerating a lettuce head for dinner in the kitchen when Hero finally spoke: “He was not good enough in bed to be this upset over this.”

Bea almost choked on her tea, spitting it over her keyboard. “Hero, what the fuck?”

“You use humor to cope, Bea, so I think I’m just giving that a whirl,” Hero said. She reached for a textbook the size of Bea’s head and started to flip through it, looking for the problem set she needed. “And I’m just - what the fuck? He acts like we were dating for years. We were maybe dating a few months. And I _wanted_ to talk about being more serious, but he always kept blowing off that conversation. So now he acts like I went behind his back - how _dare_ he?” She asked, like she was looking for an answer. Hero wiped at her eyes with practiced efficiency. Her voice was softer, more fragile but more open when she repeated, “How dare he.”

“I know,” Bea said. She sighed. “I know, Hero.”

Bea looked back down at her computer, where she was rewatching the _Grey’s Anatomy_ episode “1-800-799-7233,” taking notes like she was going to break through this writer’s block. So far she had an introduction and a smattering of paragraphs summarizing the television episodes she was using: two _Grey’s_ episodes, the one she was currently watching and “Silent All These Years,” which was about sexual assault; “When a Stranger Calls” from _Riverdale;_ and a smattering of honestly interchangeable episodes from _Law and Order: SVU_ dealing with college sexual assault and adult survivors. After all of the documentaries she had watched and episodes of _Criminal Minds_ that discussed violence against women, Bea had narrowed her episode analysis to solely primetime, narrative television.

The rest was bullet points that said shit about rape statistics and RAINN and discussed how their hotline numbers jumped after these episodes came out (especially that second _Grey’s_ episode). But the important parts about applicable feminist theory and, in the best-case scenario, an _analysis section,_ remained uncomfortably, stubbornly blank.

And she needed to have _something_ to pass around at seminar tomorrow.

(And then she remembered her grad school applications coming up, and she felt downright _nauseous_.)

Her messenger app pinged on her computer. Maria seemed to be on the same wavelength as she, typing, _so who else is staying up all night writing?_

_Meeeee,_ Juliet replied immediately. Mona sent a thumbs-up emoji. Celia said nothing, but her icon showed that she was following along.

_My analysis is a mess,_ Bea wrote. _Especially since i have none._

_Yo that’s a mood,_ Mona wrote. _Did you know lots of people have done work on growing up multiracial? This research feels more like a book report._

_Every time I stare at the cursor, I freeze up,_ Bea confessed. _Like if whatever i write isn’t perfect it’s bad? Which i know isn’t how anything works, but. That’s how it is rn_

Mona sad reacted to that. Juliet sent a thumbs-down emoji. Maria and Celia posted at the same time:

_Celia: set a timer for 20min and just free write. Doesn’t have to be good or even complete sentences. Just get it down. After those 20min drink water/stretch/reward yourself with a short youtube vid._

_Maria: do u have weed?_

Bea laughed out loud as there was the distant sound of a knock on the door and Hero getting up to open it.

“Hey, Ben,” She said, “What’s up?”

“Just checking in,” Ben said. “Being in the apartment is a bit awkward right now, so…”

“I’m sorry,” Hero said. “I wish it wasn’t.” 

“Yeah, me too,” Ben said. To Bea’s surprise, he reached down to ruffle Hero’s hair like one would as for a sister; Hero swatted Ben away with all the practiced efficiency she had with Bea. “Not to worry, Bonnie - I’ll manage.”

He saw Bea looking at this exchange and grinned. “Hey there, honeybee.”

Hero’s head snapped up, her mouth opening and suddenly grinning in _delight_ at hearing this. Over Ben’s shoulder Bea saw her mouth, _honeybee?_

Bea glared at Ben. “Did you _have_ to say that?”

“Oh, most definitely,” he said, coming over to the couch to plop on the other side. He leaned over to peer over Bea’s shoulder. “How’s the paper going?”

“Slowly,” Bea said, wiping a hand over her eyes. “It’s going to be a long night. I may use one of my two free absence allowances on my first class, if I’m up past two.”

“Urgh, sounds awful,” Ben said. “In that case, I’ll suffer through my living room.”

“What would we do without you?” Hero asked as Ben stood up to sling his bag over his shoulder. Ben grinned at her.

“Probably have a more quiet life, but a lot less fun. Night, Bonnie.”

“Night,” Hero said, waving him off.

Ben leaned down to press a quick kiss to Bea’s cheek; she caught a flash of warm lips and ticklish scruff and minty aftershave and then he was gone.

“Night, lass,” He said, and Bea caught his eye. He was so close, hair flopping over his forehead, dimple on his cheek, and Bea dearly missed his warmth and his smile when he pulled away and made for the door.

“Don’t miss me too much!” He called, waving over his shoulder and breaking the moment as he cheerfully strolled out the door. In the ensuing silence, Bea turned back to her computer to write, trying to ignore Hero’s stare burning into her.

After a few minutes, Bea sighed and pulled out her phone. “_Fine_, Hero. I am setting a timer for five minutes, and I will answer all your questions.”

“As if I’d curb myself to that,” Hero teased, but she made no other argument. “_Honeybee?_”

“He was testing pet names,” Bea said. “Terms of endearment -”

“- I know what a _pet name_ is, stop avoiding the topic -”

“ - And he landed on honeybee and that’s the one that set my teeth on edge the least.”

“Do you just not like pet names?” Hero asked. “I mean, I know you’d tell him if you didn’t. But like…”

“It makes me feel…” Bea made a face. “Valued and cared for and warm and fuzzy and all that. It’s ruining my image.”

“As what?” Hero asked.

“Don’t ask questions I don’t want to answer,” Bea said, and Hero stuck her tongue out.

“Any other pet names?”

“Most of the time he uses _lass._ That’s sort of cute,” Bea said. “It’s just. Weird.”

“Weird?” Hero asked.

“Yeah,” Bea said. “It’s just. I don’t know. It’s nice. But I’ve been single for so long, and even then none of those relationships felt the way this does. Or is going to. Both. It feels like a lot really fast. But also like this has been a long time coming.”

“Why can’t it be both?” Hero asked. “And it’s so funny, because...it has been? I’ve been on the outside looking in, watching this. I’ve wanted to tell you two to get a room for _so long._ Now I kind of want to do it more, but you two are really cute, so…” She shrugged. “I’m letting it slide.”

She made a face like there was something more she wanted to say. Bea waited patiently to see if she would say anything, but Hero said nothing. So Bea said, “I’m sorry to talk about it. I feel selfish for talking about my stuff while this is all happening.”

“I asked you about it,” Hero reminded her. “And just because I’m going through shit doesn’t mean that you need to put your life on hold. If you’re putting the brakes on you and Ben because you’re having cold feet -”

“I’m _not_,” Bea interrupted, surprising herself at her own vehemence. Hero continued on as if Bea hadn’t spoken, totally unsurprised.

“Or this has brought up things for you and you’re not ready. But don’t hold back on my account,” Hero said. She looked at her sister shrewdly. “_Are_ you holding back on my account?”

"No,” Bea said. “Yes. Maybe. It’s...a lot. I know I want this. But I’m just...it’s been a while since I’ve really gotten back into dating. There are lots of logistics that I need to redetermine -”

“What, you want me to draw you a chart? Insert tab A into slot B, repeatedly, until -”

Bea laughed. “Shut _up_.”

“I’m serious, might as well make all that sex with Lucas mean something,” Hero said. Her face shadowed, and Bea tried to break the sudden mood shift.

“Was he any good?”

“He was on the upper end, but that may have been because I knew what I liked and wanted so I could just tell him. He didn’t strike me as very...exploratory.”

“Bummer.” Bea said. She wondered about Ben, who looked at her like she was his favorite person - his _best friend_. Would he take the time to learn the twists and turns of her body, what she liked and what she wanted? She had no doubt.

But that kind of sex, all tenderness and exploration and _fun?_ That terrified her. Because that - Bea had never had that. But she wanted it. And she wanted it with Ben.

God, it had been a _weird year_.

The alarm went off, and Bea returned to her paper. The cursor stared back at her, blinking mockingly, the smug little motherfucker. She tabbed back to her conversation with the group.

_Juliet: My brother and his friend used to have paper-writing parties. They would hang out in the library and drink whiskey and write their papers. One time he sent me a vid of some dude deep-throating hot dogs at 4am and he was losing his fucking mind_

_Mona: @Juliet that’s gay_

_Juliet: yah they’re dating now so_

_Juliet: go merc_

_Mona: hell yeah that rules_

Bea snorted in amusement. _I live next door to my cousin here at UM. it’s wild._

Maria posted. _So about that paper._

Bea typed, _took a break, going back into it now. I’m going to try you approach, @Celia. I’m going to log off, see you all tmr, night_

After the requisite chorus of good-nights, Bea closed out her tab and stretched her arms above her head, cracking her shoulders, the knuckles in her fingers. Then she set aside her notepad and started to write.

~

When Bea walked into Senior Seminar the next day with five printed copies of her paper so far, it was to a spectacular sight: Juliet catnapping on her folded arms; Maria feverishly making some last-minute edits before running off to the department printer; Mona googling “jobs that make 50k a year without a degree;” and in the middle of it all, Celia, looking as put-together as ever, one leg crossed over the other and sipping a coffee from the campus Starbucks.

“Last night went that well, hm?” Bea asked, pulling out her usual seat and sitting down.

“Mph,” Mona mumbled; Juliet startled awake at the noise.

“Shit, how long was I out?”

“Only about ten minutes,” Maria said. 

“Nice, I still have five,” Juliet replied, and then she lay her head down again.

“Thanks for the writing advice,” Bea said to Celia. “It really helped.”

“Anytime. What time did you make it to bed?” Celia asked.

“Around two, two-thirty,” Bea said. That was when her thoughts had finally gone from spacey but interesting trains of thought to downright unhinged, and she had stumbled to bed and only barely gotten up in time for her morning class. When Bea went through her writing prior to seminar to sort out the worst spelling mistakes, it had been to find nearly thirty pages of double-spaced, APA-cited garbage including the word “assault” misspelled a half-dozen different ways, an incomprehensible three paragraphs of Bea ranting about Derek and Meredith’s relationship (this was deleted), and a citation that simply read _“because it’s 145am and I say so.”_

“Well done,” Celia said. She raised her cup in a toasting motion when Professor Shylock bustled in, a cookie tin in her hands.

“Snickerdoodles today, ladies,” she said. She resumed her usual seat at the head of the table. Professor Shylock tapped the desk near Juliet’s head. “Up, up, up, my dear.”

Juliet grumbled but acquiesced, sitting up and stretching. She snuck her hand into the tin to take a cookie. Professor Shylock ignored her, saying:

“Well, you all know what we’re here for. Pass around your printed copies - make sure I receive one - and mark your comments. Let’s get started.”

Bea slid a copy of her paper to the other four students and Professor Shylock. She received Maria’s paper first, so she crossed on leg over the other, getting comfortable, and started to read.

For the next hour and a half, the room was quiet. The only sounds were the flapping of pages, the scratching of pens, the munching of cookies, the humming of the ancient heating vent. Bea used her favorite blue pen as she wrote small edits, suggestions, annotations about her classmates’ subject material.

When she got her papers back, Bea skimmed through the pages. The women around her were all packing up, each quieter and more subdued than usual. Bea had assumed it was because of their full day of work and reading and the late night they all had, but as she read her comments…

_This is such an important topic, and I didn’t realize until I read this that most of the studies I’ve read on the topic are on news/social media,_ Juliet had written in her looping script, _I had something happen to me sophomore year, and maybe I might have acted differently if I’d seen this kind of empowering representation. Keep at it, Bea!_

Maria had written: _You have a really great start here! I can’t wait to go home and watch these episodes, maybe comment more. I was assaulted freshman year, thank you for exploring this topic and speaking up. Can’t wait to see your presentation!_

Mona had commented and annotated the margins heavily, offering critiques and edits and suggesting she switch around about half of her formatting. She actually made sense of the barely-connected chaos that Bea’s brain had churned out after one am, which was more than Bea had even hoped for. On the last page, beneath Bea’s half-assed conclusion, Mona had written, _Me too, Bea._

Celia’s edits were very much in line with Mona’s. On the last page, she had written:

_Hey Bea -_

_Your paper is looking great! A bit rough after page 15, but so were all of ours, ahaha. I know we don’t know each other all that well and I kind of come off as a bitch, but I was assaulted after a work party over the summer - went to the hospital and everything, but I was too scared of losing my internship to press charges. I’m still rebuilding. I’m guessing you experienced something similar, considering the topic. I hope you gave them hell._

_Let me know if you need anything!_

_~ Celia_

“Bea?”

Bea whipped her head up from her stack of papers, shuffling them upside down as if to protect her classmates’ secrets from the outside world. Professor Shylock was standing above her, holding her paper. “I think we should have a conversation about your paper.”

_Oh God,_ Bea thought, _Oh God I’m failing, I’ve already failed and I’m being kicked out and I won’t graduate and I’m going to be a barista like everyone said I would be with a Gender and Women’s Studies degree, not that there’s anything wrong with that, but then people will ask me if I went to college and I’d have to say no I got kicked out over a rough draft of my thesis paper and they’d look at me like that was exactly what they expected and then they’ll get mad when I mix up what a latte and a cappuccino and a macchiato are and and and -_

“Sure,” Bea said, like she wasn’t slowly unraveling mentally. She stood and followed Professor Shylock down the library bowel’s rickety halls. Unlike the enormous science quad where each hard science - computers, biology, chemistry, engineering - had their own building, the Gender and Women’s Studies department was in an out-of-the-way back hallway that one needed to take an elevator and a set of stairs (because screw accessibility, apparently) to get to.

Professor Shylock’s office was cluttered but beautiful, the wide window overlooking the mountains. It would be especially stunning in the summer, when the mountains were coated emerald green, or the fall, when they would be every shade of red and yellow and orange. Inside the bookshelves were wooden and filled to the brim with books - feminist and gender theory, history, novels spanning Elizebeathan to the modern age. Bea had never taken a course with Professor Shylock, who had pioneered a field she named _gender historiography,_ but Juliet had raved about her classes a few weeks ago when they had first met to hang out and talk about their papers and senior year in general.

Bea sat in the admittedly very comfortable chair as uncomfortably as she could. Almost bursting, she asked, “Was, ah, there an issue with my paper?”

“An issue?” Professor Shylock set down the mostly-empty cookie tin and put her glasses on, lifting her copy of Bea’s rough draft to her face. “No, not at all. I just had a few questions for you.”

“Oh.” _That sounds like there are issues._ “What are they?”

Professor Shylock eyed her across the worn but well-cared for cherry wood desk. “How has your year been so far? Is everything...alright?”

Bea blinked. Her first thought was, _was the paper that bad?_ But she knew her classmates wouldn’t say her paper was good if it wasn’t. And Bea knew, at least rationally, that she would not have been accepted into the honors program if her performance had been anything less than stellar.

But there was a heavy meaning in Professor Shylock’s words, in her eyes as she studied Bea. Something that bypassed merely the tenured professional, into more personal territory.

“_Oh,_” Bea said, because that’s all anyone seemed able to say when this topic was broached. “Oh, I, um. It’s. Well.”

Why was a lump rising in her throat? Her eyes were welling up, and quickly she palmed them away. Why was she crying so much lately, anyway?

(Viola would tell her that it was because Bea was mentally and emotionally exhausted with school and graduate applications and juggling supporting Hero and handling the resurgence of her own trauma, and also she had been up past two and wasn’t that just college, anyway, crying at the drop of a hat? Suddenly all Bea wanted was to curl up in bed and eat soup. Maybe she was getting sick.) But Professor Shylock was the first person in a position of authority to ask her how she was doing that didn’t already presuppose the answer. Her parents had hovered and assumed the worst; her therapist knew the story, the trauma already, and had simply dove into unpacking it; her professors hadn’t seen anything, or if they had, they had done nothing about it. But now Professor Shylock was looking at her with those deep-seated, compassionate eyes and Bea had to grab a tissue and blow her nose into it.

“Something happened to my - a friend of mine. Last semester.” Bea swallowed. Her mind went to the phrase _mandatory reporter_ and she tried to head that off. “She’s going to the school about it, she decided. It’s just...hard.”

“And with this subject material, I imagine it’s difficult to be inundated with this topic both academically and personally,” Professor Shylock said. She flipped through Bea’s paper. “I can tell that this topic is a true passion of yours.”

“It is,” Bea said immediately and without hesitation. Nothing sparked her fire like this; nothing touched her so deeply and truly, to her soul, as this subject, this unwilling but immensely powerful bond that she shared with so many survivors, across language, nationality, religion, sexuality.

“I wonder, Bea,” Professor Shylock said. “As you free-wrote this -”

“You can tell?” Bea interrupted before immediately blushing at the gaffe. Professor Shylock lifted an eyebrow.

“I’ve been in academia for forty years, Miss Stratford. I can always tell.”

_Yeah, that makes sense,_ Bea thought.

“In any case, as I read, I began to see the pattern that you develop in your essay, and I very much would like to see you continue that trend. Look at your paper with fresh eyes and tell me what you see,” Professor Shylock said.

Bea picked up the top copy of her annotated paper - the one Juliet had scribbled all over - and started to read. She skipped ahead to somewhere around pages fifteen to twenty, when the coffee had started to wear off and things got really honest and weird. She kind of waxed rhapsodic over Jo’s support of Abby, how Teddy and Jo and Quatri worked together during the forensic exam, how Meredith and Arizona made a plan for Jo and her abusive ex husband, how Ronnie and Veronica beat the shit out of Nick for drugging Cheryl.

“It’s…” Bea struggled to put the thought blossoming behind her breastbone - which was weird, but that was where she felt it, when she had an idea this good that came from her heart and soul and the part of her that still wanted to run John and Lucas over with her car - “I focus less on the storytelling and depiction of how DVSA are portrayed, and more on the relationships between the women who band together to support one another.”

“Aha,” Professor Shylock said. Bea looked up to see her beaming across the table. “Exactly that. Any show - and there are so, so many - can throw in a sexual assault for a cheap dramatic hook or ‘character development.’ But when you have these shows when it is done well, with sensitivity - what does that mean? Why do we connect to, remember, tweet about these episodes when most of, say, _Criminal Minds_ blurs together, despite having more episodes that revolve around violence against women? What does it say about our culture that we are starting to see more episodes like your _Grey’s Anatomy_ examples, and fewer with sexual violence used as a plot factor? And what does it mean to put survivor-affirming words in the mouths of primetime television’s most popular characters?”

Bea opened her mouth to speak - because she had so many _ideas_, arguments to make, paths of logic to follow, so much to write and read and see and analyze, and the best part was Bea knew she could do it, she knew she could give write this paper and give this presentation to the whole department and _kill it_ and she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that _this paper was going to get her into grad school._

“Okay,” Bea said, and she wondered if steam was coming out of her ears from the gears in her mind whirring so quickly. “Yeah. I can do that.”

“In that case,” Professor Shylock said, “I will see your updated draft in two weeks’ time.”

“Yes! Yes, you will,” Bea said. She tucked her annotated copies of her essay into her backpack, shielding her classmates’ confessions from the world outside this department.

(_Support,_ Bea thought, _it’s all about the support survivors share, the recognition and the anger and the sadness and how someone else will always pick you up when you can’t stand, or carry on the fight when you just can’t today._ It was how Hero could run to her and take her hand and Bea had known everything from a single look. They were _survivors,_ and they would _keep on surviving,_ and now she had just devolved into Destiny’s Child lyrics and so she was going to write these ideas down on a notepad and eat dinner and go to bed.)

“And Bea,” Professor Shylock said just before Bea walked out the door. She turned back around, too quickly for her professor to completely school her features. For a moment she caught a glimpse of grief too strong to put into words - but in a moment it was gone as if it never was.

“I wish your friend everything she needs moving forward,” She said to Bea. “And if you need an extension on anything, you need only ask.”

_Need._ Bea hadn’t thought about what she needed since November.

“Thanks, professor,” Bea said. She smiled and tried to look like she meant it. “I’ll see you next week. Thanks for the cookies.”

She walked out of the maze that was the hundred-and-twenty-year-old library and stepped out onto the quad. She took a deep breath, her hands tucked into her backpack straps. The air was cold and crisp, the sun going in and out behind velvety purple clouds.

_You’re okay,_ Bea told herself. It didn’t quite land, not yet. But it was closer to the truth today than it was yesterday. Instead she promised, _You’re going to be okay._

“Bea!”

She turned to find Ben walking across the quad, his hands tucked into his pockets and nose shoved into the threadbare scarf wound around his neck. She grinned.

“Hey, you. What’re you doing in my neck of the woods?”

“Got lost,” Ben said baldly. As he caught up to her, Bea moved to walk in step beside him. “Really I’m just going to the Commons, going to get either some Panda Express or Burrito Bowl.”

“You can eat that burrito bowl without just, like, needing to shit non-stop for the next three hours?” Bea asked.

“What?” Ben asked, almost stopping in his tracks and staring down at her. For a moment she thought it was because he was uncomfortable with the idea of women shitting; instead, he said, “Uh, no, Bea. I think you’re allergic to something they cook with. Like, really allergic.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Bea said. “It was one time. Well, two. The third I’m not counting because it was during Summer Smash and I was, well, a bit tipsy -”

“You are not helping your case.”

“Shut up,” Bea said, because she had lost this round and had nothing better to add.

Ben grinned like he knew that, because this dance was old and familiar by now. Falling in step with it was as comfortable as his worn red scarf. What was new was when he asked, “Can I buy you dinner?”

“Panda Express does not a good first date make,” Bea told him as she followed him without hesitation into the warmth offered by the Commons.

Ben laughed. “Lass, I think we’re past just the one. Maybe two? Three, but I’m not sure if I want to count you forcing me to watch the original _Charlie’s Angels_ movie because _you_ considered it a ‘touchstone of modern feminist cinema.’”

“Shut _up,_ Ben.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the hot dog video? see it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QnrTiuqSLGQ (cw for it being...just a bit gross?)  
i had friends in a class i took in college who pulled an all-nighter and sent this to me, sobbing with hysterical laughter, at 4 in the morning. however, they did not end up dating.
> 
> i went back and forth for a while about having all of the women be survivors of abuse. i decided to do it for two reasons: one, that all of these women come from tragedies (save maria, which i do feel bad about adding); and two, because when i graduated college, i didn't have a single female friend who didn't have some story. i wanted to show that being a survivor can look a lot of different ways, from the Beas to the Heros to the Celias.
> 
> i promise fluff in the next chapter to balance this out! thank you so much, as always, for reading!
> 
> please utilize the resources below:  
national domestic violence hotline (us): https://www.thehotline.org/  
national teen dating hotline (us): https://www.loveisrespect.org/  
national sexual assault hotline/RAINN (us): https://www.rainn.org/  
national domestic violence hotline (uk): http://www.nationaldomesticviolencehelpline.org.uk/


	17. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bea and ben celebrate valentine's day together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hellooo, all! this is my favorite, and longest chapter thus far. it came out to a whopping 21 pages! please take some delightful bea and ben fluff. 
> 
> BUT before you read this, i suggest you pop on over to my new work _there's a skirmish of wit between them_, which is a prequel to this work! chapter 2 is a oneshot about valentine's weekend our couple's freshman year. give it a click! https://archiveofourown.org/works/22639765/chapters/54109180
> 
> CW for subtle victim-blaming and discussions of abuse. please enjoy!!

## 

Chapter Fifteen

“Oh, you motherfucker,” Pedro said as Ben loaded up his final smash. Pedro snarled in frustration as Giga-Bowser filled the screen and punched his Captain Falcon into the abyss.

“You fucking furry,” He snapped. Ben elbowed him good-naturedly.

“A furry that beat you.”

“You didn’t deny it.”

“Just wanted to remind you who kicked your ass.”

“You got that supid fucking hammer in the first round, you got lucky -”

The door to Lucas’s bedroom opened and he stepped out, shrugging his bag over his shoulders. “Pedro, can I borrow the car to go to campus for my project group?”

Pedro didn’t look away from the loading screen. “Yeah, man, go for it.”

“Thanks,” Lucas said. In the reflection on the TV, Ben saw him glance at the back of his head. Ben did not turn around.

Over Lucas’s shoulder, the sign now read “It has been 15 days since Ben and Lucas spoke to each other.”

Pedro waved Lucas out the door and then returned to the game of Smash the two were playing. He narrowly beat Ben out this round, his Ike tanking Ben’s Link, and he set down his controller and turned his attention to Ben.

“Alright, Ben,” He said. His tone was unusually serious. “I’ve had just about enough of your little tiff with Lucas. What the hell is going on?”

Ben was honestly surprised it had taken Pedro this long to cotton on that this fight was more serious than typical roommate squabbling. Nevertheless, he hedged his answer, saying, “It’s...complicated.”

“Uncomplicate it.”

Ben shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “Alright. It’s just - how much do you know about what happened with him and Hero?”

“I know they broke up,” Pedro said. He shifted in his seat. “Lucas said she cheated on him.”

Ben waited for Pedro to say anything more. When he didn’t, he asked, “And that didn’t sound, I dunno, off to you?”

“Sure it did,” Pedro said. “But it’s not really my business, you know? Relationships are messy, people make mistakes. I still love her, even if she messed up.”

Messed up. As if Hero had had a little too much to drink and knocked something expensive over. Not… “I really think you should ask her for her side of the story.”

“Why?” Pedro asked shrewdly. “What do you know?”

“I-” Ben grimaced and rubbed his hands over his eyes. “You’ve heard Lucas. It seems only fair to ask Hero. You’re family and all, right?”

Ben wasn’t quite sure how big families worked. It was alien to him, the way Pedro and Bea and Hero had spent holidays and summers together as far back as they could remember. He was raised by his mother, who was an only child. His grandfather had died before Ben was born, and his grandmother passed when Ben was about seven. For as long as he could remember it had always just been the two of them.

Bea teased him about being a mama’s boy, but she didn’t know yet how right she had it.

“Yeah. I guess.” Pedro thought for another moment before he stood up abruptly. “Alright. Let’s go.”

“Go?” Ben asked, standing and following Pedro to the door. “Go where?”

“To get Hero’s side of the story,” Pedro said. For the first time, Ben cursed how close their apartments were to each other. There was no time to talk Pedro out of knocking on their door before Bea was swinging it open. She lifted an eyebrow at them both.

“I’m not sure if you’re here to give the shovel talk to Ben for me, Ped, or me for Ben,” She said. She pointed between her and Ben to accentuate her point as she spoke.

“It’s about Hero,” Pedro said. “What the hell is going on?”

There were a few moments of silence. Bea looked inside to where Hero and Margaret were sitting on the couch, doing their homework. After a short hesitation, Hero nodded. Bea turned back to her cousin.

“About time you caught on,” She said, and she ushered them inside.

Dimly, Ben thought about how weird this whole thing was - Hero minding her own business, doing her homework, when Pedro came pounding on her door demanding answers. It was uncomfortably reminiscent of the way Ben was that first morning.

(_You wanted to make sure she was okay,_ Ben told himself. _You just wanted to see her safe, not demand any answers._ It was poor comfort.)

Hero’s face was placid as she explained to Pedro no, she did not cheat on Lucas, they broke up because something happened at the Turkey Turn-Up. Yes, it was a misunderstanding, one that Lucas did not seem inclined to actually talk through. No, she was not going to give Pedro the details. That last part was the one that Pedro seemed stuck on.

“But like, what happened? Were you dancing on someone? Or making out?”

“No,” Hero said, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

“Shit, did someone rape you?”

“_No_, I just - it was just -”

“So something happened, but you didn’t hook up with anyone, but you weren’t raped?” Pedro asked. His tone was confused and just bordering on suspicious. “I’m just kind of confused here, and you’re not really giving me a ton of information -”

“She doesn’t owe you any fucking information,” Margaret interrupted, her snap cutting him off. She wasn’t as angry as she was when Lucas had started in on Hero, but it was a close thing. “You asked. She answered. Believe her or don’t.”

Pedro looked at Ben. “Do you understand this?”

It struck Ben, in a way it never quite had before - the way men could distance themselves from difficult conversations or deflect responsibility when they weren’t given the answers they wanted to hear. Pedro didn’t just want to hear what Ben heard - he also wanted some kind of validation that this was crazy, or dramatic, and that the problem was with the others and not with him and the way he saw the situation.

Ben’s response was short: “I think she made herself clear.”

Pedro frowned. He seemed - confused, if at least not hostile. It seemed more like he genuinely didn’t know that there was a whole range of things between hooking up and rape that were shitty and unwelcome.

Finally he said, “Alright, then. Can I...do anything?”

“No,” Hero said. “I don’t want you to do anything.”

Pedro looked relieved. “Yeah, of course. Whatever you need. Let me know.” He looked at Ben. “You staying?”

Ben glanced at the three women. Hero said, “I really need to focus on this problem set.”

“Then I am not,” Ben said. He had never sat down - given the whole short, weird, awkward conversation, he had never made his way to a seat and just hovered halfway between the door and the sitting area.

“I’ll walk you out,” Bea said, coming towards him. Margaret and Hero exchanged smirks; Pedro looked nonplussed.

“All of five feet? Sure, whatever you need,” he said. After the door closed, he stopped in the hallway and turned to Bea.

“Seriously, Bea. Is she okay? I know I’m not...you know..._you_. And I know none of it’s my business. But just...let me know if you need anything, okay?” He asked.

He looked sincere, if unsure. Bea smiled sadly.

“She’ll let you know, cuz. She can handle this.”

“Yeah,” Pedro agreed. “She’s not four years old with pigtails anymore, I suppose.” He trailed off, looking between Bea and Ben. His face split into a smirk and he waved his hand between them. “So, is this happening now?”

Bea and Ben exchanged looks.

“Yeah -”

“I think so?”

Pedro laughed. “Fucking _finally_. See, Ben?” He knocked Ben in the shoulder with a closed fist, the gesture carrying absolutely no bite. “I called it way back when. Have a good Valentine’s.”

He went inside. Ben felt his face going red as Bea grinned at him.

“He called it way back _when_, Ben?”

Ben wished he could have said something clever or smooth. He could do that occasionally - flirt and flatter and make the girls blush. He had done it to Bea a few times, taking a deep pleasure in watching the way her face changed as she blushed: the red flush slowly creeping up her neck, the way she fought not to smile. But Pedro reminding Ben that, yes, he _had_ seen this coming years ago, made it much harder to keep his cool.

“Find out on Friday,” Ben said smoothly.

“Ben Montounto,” Bea said, a smile splitting over her face. “Are you asking me on a date?”

“Only if you say yes. If not, then I’m just confirming the plan for laundry on Friday.”

Bea laughed. “What’re you thinking? _Harry’s?_ Freezer-burned dinners from CVS?”

“I was thinking a handle of Recipe 21 Silver Tequila,” Ben said, and Bea groaned.

“Ugh, just the _brand_ makes me feel sick,” She said. She pulled out her phone. “Nova may have some tables still available. Chill atmosphere, relaxed dress code, decently cheap, still good food. They have a table free at eight.”

She held the phone with the reservation confirmation out towards him. “Sounds good?”

She was serious, Ben realized. Three years ago, they had hidden in Bea’s room to escape the cheery holiday; now they were making plans to go out for dinner for it.

“Sounds perfect,” Ben agreed. Bea smiled up at him, and for a second Ben thought she was about to kiss him on the cheek again. But she only said goodnight and went back into her apartment.

~

If this were an 80s movie, Ben would have strutted out into the sitting room in a broad array of date outfits, to the consternation of Lucas and the amusement of Pedro. His friends would offer their advice, Pedro his car, Lucas some pomade so Ben’s hair wouldn’t flop all over his face. Pedro would attempt to intimidate Ben into being honorable and showing Bea a good time, and Lucas would laugh and say something inappropriate but funny. Then Ben would take three steps down the hall and whisk Bea off to dance the night away.

Except Ben and Lucas were heading into week three not on speaking terms, and Pedro was going to some Valentine’s Singles party at one of the houses off-campus, so very little of the first part was going to be happening. So Ben found himself standing in front of his closet at 7pm in his boxers and socks, wondering what the hell he was supposed to wear on his first date with a girl he had been friends with for years and sort-of, kind-of, maybe dating for the past month and a half.

He decided on jeans and a button-up and his best jacket, which was his regular fake-leather thing. He put on some cologne his mother had given him for Christmas last year and then sat on his couch to play Candy Crush, because it was ten past seven and he had thirty minutes before he walked over to get Bea.

Except he was on a hard level, so he ran out of lives after some five minutes. So then he browsed Reddit for twenty minutes with increasingly anxious thumbs (which was a _hell_ of a sentence to think) before he finally gave up and went to get the flowers he had gotten from the grocery store earlier that day. Except Ben had made the error of setting them down on their side, which meant the ones on the bottom were all a little squished. So he could either present Bea a mixed bouquet of squished flowers, or he could take out the wrinkled ones and give her the saddest, most half-assed floral arrangement ever in the history of men.

So Ben decided to keep the crumpled flowers. She had known him for years; hopefully, Bea would find his awkward fumbling charming instead of a sign that he didn’t take this seriously.

(It had occurred to Ben at the store, as he perused the floral arrangement section with about six other men of varying ages, debating the roses versus the mixed bouquet, doing the mental math of what would be too much, or make Bea uncomfortable, or a stereotype, or what was least expensive without looking cheap - he had never given a woman flowers before, and it had never meant so much to him to make a good first impression. Which was ridiculous, because he had known Bea for nearly four years, but he only had one chance to start this on the right foot.)

But it was either going to go well or it wasn’t, and Ben wasn’t getting anywhere by sitting alone in the apartment and getting in his head over the whole thing, so he decided to be early and just walked over and knocked on the door before he could get too sweaty over it.

Margaret opened the door in half a second, like she had been watching out for him. Her wide smirk said that she was enjoying this far too much.

“Ben!” She said far too loudly; behind Bea’s closed door, Ben heard a muffled _“shitfuckdammit”_ and Hero’s muffled laughter before music started up. Still smiling placidly, Margaret stepped aside to welcome Ben inside.

“You look nice, Ben,” Margaret said. “And you brought _flowers!_”

“Ma would fly across the ocean to smack me if I did less,” Ben said. He looked at the bouquet’s crumpled plastic wrapping. “Could I borrow a vase or something?”

“Yeah, sure,” Margaret said. She went to the pantry and pulled out a big glass and a pair of scissors.

“Hand me those flowers, Ben,” She ordered. Ben handed them over without question and watched as Margaret filled the glass, dumped in the packet of flower vitamins or whatever the damn thing was, and cut about six inches off the stems. Then she put them in the glass.

“Oh, shit,” Ben said. “They look like an actual gift now.” He snagged the discarded ribbon from the packaging and tied it around the glass. He nodded, inordinately pleased with himself. “Yeah. That looks good. Thank you so much for your help.”

“Well done,” Margaret said. Ben wondered if she was making fun of him, then accepted that that was fair, given the past three years.

“What’s your plan for tonight?” Ben asked.

“Hero and I are going to have a relaxing night in. She’s not been feeling like partying lately, so we’re going to stay in and watch movies. A few girls from our classes are coming as well. It’ll be a cross between a potluck and a slumber party,” Margaret said. She indicated her outfit, a pajama set with a tank top and big fluffy pants.

“That sounds really fun,” Ben said. “I’m surprised Bea isn’t ditching me for that instead.”

“She thought about it,” Margaret teased. Ben almost replied that he wouldn’t have minded in the slightest, but then she added, “But she wouldn’t really. She’s been really excited for this.”

“Oh,” Ben said, dumbly. He glanced at Bea’s closed door. “That’s...great.”

Margaret hopped up onto the counter where a platter of chips was waiting. Tearing open a package of guacamole, she dipped a chip and dug out a truly impressive gob of avocado and ate it. Around her mouthful, she said, “Were you expecting her to dread it?”

“I hoped not,” Ben said, leaning back against the counter. “But it’s still taking some getting used to, the way everything is changing.”

Senior year. Looking for jobs. Hero’s assault, Lucas’s reaction, Pedro’s confusion. Bea and Ben.

“Yeah,” Margaret said. She kicked her legs, ate another chip. “You have, too. Did you notice?”

Ben shrugged. “I haven’t done anything that I shouldn’t already have been doing.”

“Oh, Ben,” Margaret said, putting a hand over her heart. “You would _not_ have said that a year ago. No, you would have been as confused and uncomfortable as Pedro was the other day. Stomping in and then running out as fast as he could once he was promised that he wouldn’t need to substantially change anything about himself.”

“Is that not what I did when I first came in around Thanksgiving?” Ben asked.

“Sure, if you want to be uncharitable about it,” Margaret said. “But you stayed. Supported Bea. Implicitly supported Hero by cutting Lucas out. Did you know, earlier today, I saw Pedro getting lunch with Lucas?”

“But Pedro doesn’t know everything that I know,” Ben said.

“But he knows that Hero was hurt,” Margaret explained. “And he knows that Lucas is being a dick about it. By continuing to hang out with Lucas, he’s implicitly telling Hero one of two things." Margaret held up her fingers and counted the options. “One: he doesn’t believe that she was actually hurt. Two: he _does_ believe her, but he doesn’t think it really matters, because he’s not trying to hold Lucas to account over how he’s treated her.” 

Ben chewed on that for a while. Finally he admitted, “I never thought of it like that.”

“You didn’t need to,” Margaret said. “All you needed to do was believe her. But the choice to cut Lucas off was your own.”

“Because Lucas was being an asshole!” Ben said.

“Exactly,” Margaret said. “Not everyone puts in that work. A lot of people don’t want to, especially when it involves realizing someone we cared about and respected and were friends with wasn’t who we thought they were.”

“It just…” Ben struggled to find the words. “It feels weird accepting praise for that. It just was what felt right to do. I couldn’t look at Hero or Bea or you and think it was nothing.”

“Lucas could,” Margaret said simply. “Pedro is clumsier about it, but his continued association with Lucas shows he can, too.”

“The bar is so low,” Ben mused. Margaret nodded. He asked, “What happens going forward?”

“That’s up to Hero,” Margaret said. “But if I were to hazard a guess, I’d say starting with an apology would be a good start. I don’t think Hero wants a situation where Lucas is cast off forever. But he needs to do the same work you did.”

Ben smiled. “Never thought I’d be the positive example.”

“You are,” Margaret said. She beamed at him. “And it’s good you are, or I don’t think Bea would ever talk to you. Speaking of, let me see how she’s doing.”

She hopped off the counter to barge into Bea’s room. Dimly, Ben heard her start, “Will you hurry the hell up? He got here early and looks like a snack, Bea.”

Ben laughed and hoped they wouldn’t hear. His nerves were hiking up again, and he wiped his sweaty palms on his thighs.

_You're fine,_ He told himself. _You’re friends, ma told you want to do, just be yourself, that’s apparently worked out this long._

The door opened, and Bea stepped out, and -

She was wearing a soft, warm sweater over jeans that followed every curve of her hips and thighs and calves and chunky, heeled boots. She was wearing what looked like Hero’s sparkly, dangly earrings and makeup, the smokey gray of her eyeshadow matching her sweater.

And all of his anxiety just _vanished_. Because this was Bea, beautiful, headstrong Bea, his best friend, who made him laugh and made the time fly by, and there was nothing easier or more natural than meeting with her on a Friday night to get food and hang out. Bea beamed up at him.

“You shaved!” She cried in surprise. She reached up to run her knuckle over his baby-smooth cheek (Ben had been petty enough to steal a bit of Lucas’s good shaving shit). Her perfume was light and floated in a cloud around him.

“I did,” Ben said. He had remembered a time years ago when Bea said at a party that she preferred men who were clean-shaven, something that he had not remembered at all for the past two years until about four pm that day. “You look beautiful.”

“Charmer,” Bea said, and she caught sight of the flowers on the kitchen counter. “Are those for me?”

She stepped around him to approach the makeshift vase, running her fingertips over the petals. She tilted her head at the more crunched ones, looking confused.

“I, ah, set them down flat when I got home,” Ben explained. “Sorry about that. It was that or give you, like, three.”

Bea hadn’t taken her eyes from the wrinkly petals of a carnation. She blinked, her eyes watering. In a slightly choked voice, she said, “They’re perfect.”

Ben bit his lip, looking down at his shoes. “Well. Great. I’m glad.” He held out an elbow to her. “Shall we?”

Bea looked up at him. Her foundation had covered her freckles in a fine dusting of powder, and he found he rather missed them. She accepted his arm, hand tucked into the crook of his elbow.

“Have fun, be safe,” Margaret told them.

Hero smirked and spoke for the first time: “Remember what I gave you, Bea.”

Interestingly, Bea flushed. “Shut _up_, I will not.”

“That could make things interesting.” Hero hugged her sister and levied her with a significant look. “And _have fun_. See you later!”

Hero and Margaret waved them out the door, and Ben grinned at Bea.

“Do I want to know what Hero was talking about?”

“No,” Bea said immediately. “Come on - your chariot awaits.”

“Ooh, a chariot?” Ben asked as he followed her into the elevator. “Is there a horse? Can I ride it? Shall I cart you off into the sunset?”

“Something like that,” Bea said dryly as they walked outside. The lights of Bea’s teal little Subaru flickered when she unlocked the doors. She got into the driver’s seat while Ben took the passenger seat, moving aside no fewer than three used Starbucks bags.

“Shit, I meant to throw those out,” Bea said, “Sorry.”

“No worries. I won’t share your secrets,” Ben said. He clipped on this seatbelt and Bea drove them to the restaurant some ten minutes away. The ride was quiet, companionable, just a bit awkward as they tested the waters of this new dynamic.

“Sorry I didn’t get you anything,” Bea said suddenly. She was staring ahead, knuckles pale on the steering wheel. “I wasn’t sure…”

“It’s okay,” Ben assured her. “I wasn’t expecting anything. I just thought it’d be nice.”

Bea smiled but said nothing as she turned into the Nova parking lot. It was packed with cars, their owners inside for their Valentine's Day dates. Bea grabbed her purse - a beat-up, worn brown leather satchel - and tucked it over her shoulder. They walked inside and the waiter led them to a high-top in a back corner. The small, circular table and high chairs with the low backs were all made of dark wood. A lit candle with a single red rose in a flute glass were in the middle of the table. Bea took the chair with its back to the wall, facing the room, and smiled at the waiter as he left them with their menus and the standard, dutiful “your waitress will be with you soon.”

Ben flicked through the drink menu, and the menu’s pages. He could feel the air around his legs moving as Bea kick-swung her legs under the table. Ben looked across at her, at the way she studied her menu with the same scrutiny she used with her assigned readings. She looked up, met his gaze.

Ben said, “This is weird.”

Bea grinned. “Yeah. Not - bad weird. Just different. It’s been a while since I was this nervous.”

“Really?” Ben asked. Bea nodded, and he said, “Would it make you feel better to know I don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous for a date?”

“A little.” Bea’s lip curled. “Been on a lot of dates, have you?”

“Not exactly, as you well know. You used to tease me before all of them,” Ben reminded her, and Bea groaned. “I think you were secretly jealous.”

“Oh, I was not,” Bea said.

“You were.”

“Was _not_.”

“Were _so_,” Ben said, leaning towards her, grinning, and then leaning back as quickly when the waitress appeared to ask if they wanted drinks. Bea ordered a glass of wine whose name Ben couldn’t pronounce, and Ben ordered a beer. Tucking his ID into his pocket after showing it to the waitress, Ben noticed Bea studying him.

“Did I miss a spot?” Ben asked, running a hand over his face. He had spent some thirty minutes painstakingly going over every inch of his face and neck, making sure there was nothing he had missed, but he trusted Bea’s shrewd eyes to see everything.

“No,” Bea said. She smiled, a bit shyly. “I was just thinking. I miss the scruff.”

“I’m sorry, I must have heard you wrong,” Ben said, pretending to clean out his ear. “I think I heard you say you _missed my scruff?_ The one you once lovingly referred to as 'ball clippings I glued to my face?’”

Bea laughed. “Oh my _god_, I did _not_ say that!”

“You did. It’s on my calendar, in my diary - ‘dear diary, today Bea told me my very manly and impressive beard looked like I had glued my ball hairs to my face, and I cried all day. How could she know about that? Did Pedro tell her?’” Ben stopped as Bea threw her head back and laughed, her hair catching the light in that way he loved, where the low lights caught the red in her hair.

“You didn’t need to shave,” Bea said.

“Well, you said once that you didn’t like scruff. Said it felt like sandpaper,” Ben said.

“You remember that I said that?” Bea asked. “That had to have been, what, sophomore year?”

“Somewhere around then, yeah,” Ben agreed. “But I guess I remembered that.” He studied her across the table. “You put powder over your freckles.”

“Yeah?” Bea said.

“I love your freckles,” Ben admitted.

“I love makeup,” Bea countered playfully.

“Oh, have no fear, I love the makeup, too,” Ben said, winking. “I just think you’re beautiful.”

“Stop flirting with me,” Bea laughed. “I may need to take you out on another date.”

“Good, I’ll keep doing it, then,” Ben said. The waitress arrived with the drinks, setting them down.

“Are you ready to order?”

Ben actually hadn’t even looked at the menu - he scanned the front page, looking for something that appealed to him. Bea raised an eyebrow, asking _you good?_ Ben grinned at her.

“You go first, lass,” He said.

Bea shook her head and ordered the chicken pesto tortellini; Ben ordered the salmon in remoulade sauce with the mashed potatoes, which he hoped came in a serving the size of his head. The waitress said she’d be back with bread in a few minutes in her chipper tone. Ben just had eyes for Bea. As the waitress left, he lifted his beer glass.

“Cheers?” He asked. Bea grinned.

“Cheers,” She said, tapping the rim of her glass against his. She sipped her wine. Ben forgot the hearty, bready taste of the stout in the wake of the perfect lipstick mark Bea left on the wine glass.

_That should not be that attractive this early into the date,_ Ben thought to himself. _You are in so deep._

Bea leaned toward him, resting her weight on her elbows. The white stones (diamonds? Something similar? Ben would never be able to tell the difference) glittered in the candlelight.

“Stop staring at me,” Bea said. She tucked her chin, tucking a loose lock of wavy hair behind her ear.

“If you insist,” Ben said. “Seems a shame, though, since you definitely deserve to be looked at.”

Bea rolled her eyes but laughed. “Flatterer.”

“Only a middling flatterer, though,” Ben said. He took a sip of his beer. “So. I have a question.”

“I have an answer,” Bea said.

“I hope!” Ben said. “My question is…” He grinned, wide and foolish and dopey, “When did you first start to _like me_ like me, warts and all?”

Bea sputtered over her wine, laughing. “Oh, we’re at that point in the evening?” She thought, considering. “I think, when it really took hold” - “_Excuse me?_” - “Hush, I’ve liked you on and off for years” - _“Excuse me?”_ \- “As if you didn’t know!”

“I didn’t!” Ben cried. “If I had, I assure you, I definitely wouldn’t have waited until senior spring to stop being a lark about it.”

“You still are,” Bea said. The waitress set down a basket of warm bread and a little platter of olive oil, Parmesan, pepper, and chili flakes. She winked at him, using his breathless sputtering to tear off a chunk of bread and dip it into the oil. Around her mouthful, she said, “Anyway. It was when Hero was having a hard time with her webwork and her programming, and you put down your homework and sat with her for like two and a half hours, patiently and painstakingly explaining all the steps to her. You did her whole problem set with her, remember?”

Ben thought back. The time Bea was discussing was junior fall, when they were doing homework in the library. Hero had needed help with her homework, and Bea was in no position to help, and Pedro tried to offer support but wasn’t as good with it as Ben. So Pedro texted Ben to come through and he had sat patiently with Hero for the entire evening as she waded through her Calculus homework.

(Then, as soon as she got her legs under her, she was off, and Ben had never caught up close to her since.)

“Really?” Ben asked, almost dazed. “Back then?”

“On and off,” Bea said, shrugging. “But if I’m honest - that was when it just started to stick.”

“Why that?” Ben thought back to that night. “I don’t think we really even talked.”

“Because you were good to my sister,” Bea said, shrugging. “You did something kind that you didn’t have to do and didn’t expect anything in return. And,” she flapped a hand in his general direction. “You’re hot, and you were in front of me for three hours, so that was also cool.”

Ben ducked his head, his face going warm. “And you call me a flatterer.”

“You are. I’m just blunt.” Bea said. She took another sip of her wine. “Now you tell me - which of my stunning qualities and physical perfections did you decide you _liked me_ liked me for?”

Ben laughed, then trailed off in thought. His brain took him back over the years, trying to pick out _the moment_ that Bea went from just his roommate’s cousin to _Bea_, his best friend. Their ups and downs, their fights, the banter and laughter. He remembered her face tilted up at the sky on the lake house, taking in the stars, skin going red, blue, gold in the light of the fireworks; her sitting at a library table, typing furiously, brow furrowed in concentration; her retreating back as she walked away, going on a date with someone else junior year; her dozing on a hammock, hat pulled low over her eyes, snoring softly; her dancing to music, her smiling at him, her walking into the living room one holiday in little shorts and an oversized shirt that hung off one shoulder.

No, Ben thought, no, that all went back. He knew when it really was.

“The tequila incident,” Ben finally said.

Bea’s eyebrows rocketed towards her hairline. “No way. You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” Ben said seriously.

“How? When?” Bea asked. She shook her head in denial, looking bemused. “_Why?_”

“How much do you remember?” Ben asked. Bea frowned in concentration.

“I...remember Katherina on my side, pulling me out the door with you. I remember telling her she had amazing biceps. I remember throwing up in a bush and crying about it.”

“You cried a lot that night,” Ben said, nodding sagely. Bea sighed, shamefaced. She swirled her wine around in her glass, watching the bubbles dancing in the pink liquid.

“Yeah, I’m not too proud of what I did that night.”

“I enabled you.”

“I’d have done it anyway,” Bea said. She smiled sadly. “It was a bad time for me. But that’s about all I remember. I think I’m forgetting something.”

“Just a bit,” Ben said. He sat back, casting his mind back to that night. His memory of the night was just as flaky, despite his Scottish drinking genes he so liked to brag about, but he remembered this. “Katherina dragged us back to your double, made both of us drink water. She told us both to lay on the floor, because she didn’t trust you to get into your bed. She brought you into the bathroom to change and at least slosh around some mouthwash, and she gave me enough gum to choke on, which she may have hoped for. She was very angry at me.”

Bea muffled a groan into her hand. “You and me both. She was more worried about us getting alcohol poisoning than anything else. She just expressed her worry in anger back then.”

“I see,” Ben said. He sensed A Story there, but it wasn’t his place to ask. “Anyway, she pulled down your pillows and comforter and had us lay on that beautiful carpet of yours - what ever happened to it, by the way?”

“Katherina tried to make some of her mother’s chana masala sophomore year and she _really_ fucked up,” Bea explained. “The stain, and the smell, would never come out. It couldn’t be saved.”

“That’s _heartbreaking_,” Ben said, crestfallen. “A warrior’s death.”

“We gave it a proper funeral,” Bea assured him. “Said a eulogy.”

“It sounds like a beautiful ceremony,” Ben said. He thought back to that night, remembered how the carpet under him felt like the softest thing in the world. He was close enough to Bea’s pillow to know it smelled like her, her hair. “Katherina left to go to the bathroom to take a quick shower.”

“I threw up on her shoes!” Bea suddenly remembered. She reached into her purse to pull out her phone.

“Are you apologizing to her now?” Ben asked. “In the middle of our date?”

“Well, I didn’t then!” Bea cried. Ben shook his head and waited for Bea to send her belated apology text. After a few moments she tucked it back into her purse and indicated for him to continue. 

“Proceed. Katherina left.”

“Yeah,” Ben said, “And we were laying there, and I was dozing off, and then you said, ‘you’re safe.’ And I was confused, because I thought you were telling me _I_ was safe with _you_. Which I had never doubted. But then you said, ‘I’m safe with you.’”

_(He lay on his side, his head spinning in that sickening, nauseating way, and he wasn’t sure he was still awake, and he was positive Bea wouldn’t have said this to him were she in her right mind. He doubted she was even aware she was speaking. She was laying next to him, facing him, her black eyeliner and mascara smeared and streaming below her eyes, which were glassy and unfocused. She smelled like sweat and Bacardi, which was silly because they hadn’t had anything but the Recipe 21 and just thinking of the brand made his stomach lurch._

_“I’m safe with you,” Bea said in a half-whisper. She said it like it was a realization, an epiphany. Ben wondered if he should be glad she thought so or upset, worried, alarmed she hadn’t known that before._

_Ben wanted to say something important and meaningful, but with the way his stomach was acting right now, he worried he would be sick if he opened his mouth. So instead, holding her gaze, jaw tight, he nodded.)_

Bea’s eyes were wide and a little misty. She dabbed at them with her fingertips, trying not to smear her eyeliner. “I never knew that. Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“It sounded personal,” Ben said with a shrug. “Like you had your own stuff going on, and I wasn’t sure if I should ask about it. And I didn’t know until a bit later that you didn’t remember saying it. By then it was too late and I felt weird bringing it up.”

Bea reached across the table to take his hand. Ben held hers back, tightly.

“You are safe with me,” He said seriously. “I don’t want you to ever doubt that.”

“I never have. And you with me,” Bea said. She lifted his hand to her lips despite the slightly awkward way he had to reach over the table and pressed her lips to his knuckles. Ben pulled his hand back, fingers tingling and oddly breathless.

“Well,” He said. “Cool. So we _do_ like each other.”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” Bea said, winking at him as the waitress arrived with their food.

The rest of the meal passed in a happy daze - good-hearted jabs and light conversation and talking about classes and work. Bea told him all about her thesis cohort group, how fascinating their projects were, how excited she was for her paper now that she knew what she wanted to write about. Ben told her about his projects, the complications of fluid dynamics and how he loathed his solids professor. Bea stole some of his potatoes but very nearly engaged in a knife fight when Ben tried to take one of her precious tortellini. They ended the meal with another round of drinks and split a tiramisu. He let Bea have the raspberries that went with it on top and watched as she popped them into her mouth one by one.

He had been watching her mouth a lot during this meal.

Finally, after some finagling, Bea paid for the meal and Ben left their waitress a hearty tip once he went to the in-restaurant ATM for some cash he’d brought. It was nearly ten when they made their way out of the restaurant, warm and full and walking together much closer than they had when they went in. It almost physically hurt to pull away from Bea’s warm (soft) (pliant) side and settle into the passenger side.

“You’re staring at me again,” Bea accused him teasingly as she pulled out of the parking lot and took the main road back to their apartment.

“And what of it?” Ben challenged. “You’re beautiful. I’d stare at you all day.”

Bea shook her head, smiling. “You’re tipsy.”

“Not particularly. Two beers and a full meal do not make a Scotsman tipsy, thank you very much, lass,” Ben said. He heard how his accent was heavier as he spoke. Curiously, he watched as a red flush slowly stole up Bea’s neck, her sweater and loose hair failing to hide it completely. It was very alluring, in fact. “D’you like my accent?”

“Obviously,” Bea said, trying to play it cool and failing as she went redder. “It’s the first thing I noticed about you.”

“Oh, is it? Not me devilishly handsome smile or me twinkly eyes?” Ben asked.

“Oh, I saw them, too,” Bea said flippantly. “But the accent kind of wraps up the package, so to speak.”

"I love it when you talk dirty,” Ben said, and Bea laughed. “Please, tell me more about what you think of me and my package.”

“You are incorrigible,” Bea told him as they pulled into the parking lot. She turned off the car and for a few moments they sat in warm silence. Bea leaned back against her headrest, and maybe 

Ben was feeling his alcohol more than he let on, or something about the sight of the pale column of her throat or the swell of her chest under that sweater was as potent as any alcohol.

“Eyes up here,” Bea teased. Ben’s head snapped up guiltily, but Bea didn’t seem perturbed in the slightest. If anything, she seemed flattered. Her expression softened as her eyes flicked over his features, taking him in. She told him, “You really are gorgeous.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Ben said honestly. There was a burning in his chest that was starting to migrate south, and they were going to have a real problem if she kept looking at him like that.

“I hope so, but not tonight,” Bea said. Which certainly took care of the problem, even if the _I hope so_ still gave him some, well, hope. “I hope you don’t mind I’d rather take things...slow.”

“Not at all,” Ben told her. They hadn’t even kissed yet; he hadn’t been expecting to jump into bed with her tonight. “You’ve gone through a lot, and we have time. I just want you to know I _do_ want to have sex with you. But I want to do it right. In more ways than one.”

Bea snorted and gently knocked his arm. “I certainly hope so. Multiple times.” She studied him. “I want you, too. A lot. But I just need to be slow, because, well…”

“You don’t need to explain,” Ben said. He put a hand over hers on the steering wheel. “We’ve agreed that we want to, but need more time. This thing, this relationship - it’s still new. This was our first real date, as a real couple. I still don’t know what to call you.”

“My friends call me Bea,” she offered, and Ben rolled his eyes to the sky.

“Oh, _hush_, you.”

“You _can_ call me your girlfriend,” Bea said. That stopped Ben short; he stared at her, and Bea laughed at him. “You can! It’s the best term for what we are. Boyfriend, girlfriend, and all that.”

“Are you sure?” Ben asked. “You weren’t sure what to say when Pedro asked the other day.”

“I know,” Bea said. “I wasn’t sure where _you_ were on the whole thing. I didn’t want to say we were something we weren’t until we had talked about what we were. Which we are doing. And I said I’m cool with girlfriend-boyfriend, if you are. Are you?”

“Hell yeah, I am,” Ben said.

Bea beamed at him, and it was _blinding_. “Hell yeah, then. Boyfriend.”

Ben grinned back. “Girlfriend. I’m going to put this in my phone, and tell Pedro, and my ma -”

Bea got out of the car, closing the door on his listing. Ben followed her to the doors of their building, listing: “And Hero, and Margaret, and the very nice lady who owns the liquor store across the street, and my senior project group, and the gent who cuts my hair -”

“Would you like to yell it from the balcony?” Bea asked as the elevator doors shut. She folded her arms under her chest, bolstering her cleavage, which was almost enough to distract him from the task at hand.

“I would, actually, yeah,” Ben said. He thought about it, standing at his balcony and cupping his hands to his mouth and yelling _I am dating Beatrice Stratford!_ to the entire college town. He might get a woop or two in response, which would be cool, or a noise violation, which was less cool and Bea would never let him live down. Alas, it was doomed to remain a fantasy.

The doors opened, and they walked down the hallway. Ben stopped her at her door.

“Guess this is you,” He said before wanting to kick himself. Obviously this was her. She had lived there all year. How many times had he said goodbye to her here, after sitting and doing laundry? It was the same door, the same three-by-six slab of wood that had been there all year, but now it was like this foreign thing where he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do now with his feet or his hands or his mouth.

Bea smiled up at him, and he knew she understood. “This is me.” She reached forward to wrap him in a hug, arms going around his waist. “Thanks for tonight. This was the best first date I've ever had.”

“Because there have been so many,” Ben fake-grumbled into her hair. Really he was focusing on her floral scent, the soft crush of her body to him. She was so warm and soft and solid. He wanted to hold her forever.

Bea pulled back. “Not as many as you.”

Ben gasped, mock-affronted. “But honeybee dearest, I’ve been going around all this time, looking for you!”

“Nope. No. Too much. I can’t handle this.” Bea giggled, and Ben reflected on how much she had been laughing that night. It was more than she had these past few months combined, and it filled him with a deep pride that _he_ could make her smile and blush like this, that _he_ could offer her this comfort. That she _wanted_ him to offer this comfort over anyone else.

Bea’s expression had changed, one brow going up quizzically. She had such an expressive face. She asked, “Ben?”

He reached up with one hand, fingertips spanning the length of her cheekbone, dancing over the outline of her freckles. His other hand ran up her back, over her spine and bra strap and shoulders, to curl over the skin at the nape of her neck. He felt her hands tighten on his t-shirt around his hips, felt her eyelashes flutter closed as he leaned into her. He could smell the wine and chocolate and coffee from the tiramisu on her breath.

“Christ, get a room, you two.”

It was like a bucket of cold water had been tossed over them both - Bea stiffened and jumped in his arms, and Ben kept his eyes closed and jaw tight, his forehead pressed to Bea’s. It was better, he thought, if he didn’t actually look at Lucas while he meandered past, the elevator doors sliding closed behind him as he made his way to their apartment. He felt rather than saw Lucas breeze past them. Ben caught the stench of weed and cheap beer coming off of him.

They remained silent until the door closed behind him. Ben let out a shuddering breath. “I could kill him,” he offered.

“I’ll help.” 

Ben opened his eyes to see Bea already looking at him. The moment may have passed, but Ben still had a hand on her cheek, the other in her hair, and they had been on a date and this felt like a win. Shaking his head in wonder at this woman, he pressed his lips to her forehead.

“Night, lass,” he said. Bea sighed and kissed his cheek.

“Night,” She echoed. “I had a really great time. I can’t wait to do this again.”

“Me neither,” Bea said. Finally she pulled away. “We’ll do it soon.”

“Text me when you get home,” Ben said, keeping his face serious. Bea laughed and shook her head.

“You are a ridiculous man, Ben,” She said. She blew him one last kiss and walked into the apartment.

Ben could have been walking on air. Lucas could have been ripping a massive bong in their living room surrounded by all of his dirty dishes and stray socks and Ben wouldn’t have given a damn. His phone buzzed and he looked down at it. A smile broke out over his face.

_made it home. thanks again for a great time. night boyfriend xx _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW what an asshole amirite?
> 
> ALSO! i have a writing tumblr, where sometimes i accidentally reblog from my main. give us a click here: https://notantherwritingblog.tumblr.com/
> 
> fr though how do people feel about sexual content i'm just curious for reasons.
> 
> as always, if this chapter has you feeling some kind of way, here are some resources:  
national domestic violence hotline (us): https://www.thehotline.org/  
national teen dating hotline (us): https://www.loveisrespect.org/  
national sexual assault hotline/RAINN (us): https://www.rainn.org/  
national domestic violence hotline (uk): http://www.nationaldomesticviolencehelpline.org.uk/


	18. Interlude IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hero meets her advocate to decide what to do next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aka "this is what jj's day looks like"
> 
> CW: discussions of sexual assault and trauma.

## 

Interlude IV

Hero looked at the phone in her hand, reading the email again.

_Hi Hero,_

_Tuesday at 2pm works for me! I’m in the Franklin building next to the student commons, 2nd floor, room 2442. Feel free to send me an email or text if something comes up. If not, I’m looking forward to seeing you!_

_Best,_

_Lena_

The plastic card on the door said _Helena Athens_ in its big, bold letters. It was closed. Did she knock? What if she had a client? One who needed her services more than Hero did? This was a bad idea. She was fine. She could keep going.

“You going to knock?” Margaret asked, a teasing note to her voice. Her brown eyes were warm. On Hero’s other side stood Bea, that immovable brick wall. Hero knew that one word from her would have Bea knocking the door off its hinges or sweeping Hero off down the hall to some private, hidden corner.

But Bea had done this, had _felt_ this, and if she could move on and grow and heal and find love again (with _Ben_, and Hero had known that this was coming in _high school_), then Hero could do it too.

“Yes,” Hero said. She took a breath, squared her shoulders. “I’m ready.”

“We’ll be in the library if you need us,” Bea said. She chucked Hero under her chin. “You’ve got this.”

You’ve got this. Like they were back in high school, Bea hyping Hero up for a track meet or a big presentation or her Messina admissions interview.

_How did we get here?_ Hero wondered. How did she find herself in a place - physically, emotionally, mentally - where the most terrifying prospect in the world was knocking on a plain brown door?

Hero took a step forward, lifted her fist, and knocked. She asked herself, _How do I put me together again?_

After a few moments, the door swung open. “Hero?”

“Yeah,” Hero said to the woman. She was younger than Hero had anticipated, perhaps in her mid-twenties. The woman smiled at her and it immediately put Hero more at ease.

“I’m Lena, the Dandelion Center’s on-campus advocate. It’s so nice to meet you, despite the circumstances.” Lena peered over Hero’s shoulder. “Oh, you brought friends! That’s great! Would you like them to join us?”

Hero honestly hadn’t known that was an option; she had spent a lot of time psyching herself up for a grueling session of question after question, not...this.

“I think I’m good,” Hero said. She looked at Bea and Margaret. “They already know everything.”

“Okay!” Lena said. She smiled at Hero’s friends. “In that case, we should be an hour or so. If either of you ever need someone to talk to or have any questions, you can reach out to me, too.”

“We can?” Margaret asked. “I thought you were just for…”

“For survivors,” Lena finished her sentence, nodding. “That makes sense. But no - our center is here for everyone affected by violence. Trauma isn’t just a one-person show. It’s like a rock being tossed in a pond - there’s an initial strike, but the ripples go out and out.” She turned her attention to Hero. “Want to talk about your rock?”

Hero nodded. She glanced back at Bea and Margaret, feeling suddenly like she was in kindergarten again, looking behind her to where her mother and sister were waving her goodbye as she walked into her classroom. Lena cheerfully bid good-bye and turned on a white noise machine that she had hanging on her outer door handle.

Lena’s office was as much a surprise as her cheerful demeanor. Instead of something drab and beige and cheerless, it was airy and bright. The blinds of the one window were up all the way, rays of winter sunlight streaming in over her desk, a bookcase, two squishy, comfy chairs. The windowsill and desk were covered in plants and flowers; knick knacks and stim objects were on the bookshelf and desk. Twinkling little fairy lights ran about the ceiling, and one wall was taken up with a hanging tapestry of flowering cacti. The space smelled like coffee from the keurig and the wintergreen air freshener leftover from the holidays.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” Lena said, bustling back in. “Want some coffee?”

“Oh, I’m good with my water,” Hero said, surprised again.

“Alright! Let me get my materials and _my_ coffee, and I will be right there,” Lena said. With the extra few moments, Hero had a moment to study the campus advocate.

Like Hero suspected, she indeed looked like she was in her mid-twenties, perhaps a year or two out of grad school. She was curvy, wearing a short-sleeved sweater dress that showed off a sleeve tattoo of wildflowers and knee-high boots. She had a round face, dimples when she smiled, thick black glasses, and a bob of brown hair that fanned out almost the width of her shoulders in near-perfect ringlets.

Lena sat down across from Hero. “So,” she started, settling her attention on Hero. “Tell me about yourself. Where are you from? What do you study?”

“Oh, um,” Hero started by the personal question. “Corte Madera, it’s a half hour north of San Francisco. I’m a Physics and Astronomy major, and I’m a couple of classes away from a Math minor, so I may add that next year.”

“That’s really cool!” Lena said, and it was clear from the way her eyes lit up that she really meant it. “What does one do with that? I imagine there’s a lot of careers that those skills lend themselves to. I studied social work, myself.”

“I’d love to do research,” Hero said. “With all of the data and numbers that we crunch with our programming, a lot of people can make a killing in the stock market or handling the books for those big financial conglomerates. But there are lots of research stations around the world I’d love to go to. There’s Monterey, of course, but the Gemini Observatory is in both Chile and Hawaii.”

“Which would you prefer?” Lena asked.

“Hawaii, definitely,” Hero laughed. “Sunny days, perfect nights, the ocean, seventy degrees year-round? Yes please.”

She beamed at the thought of a big, bright, beautiful future of global travel and shoeless runs on the beach. Then the smile faded, feeling like someone had tossed a bucket of cold water over her. “But, ah. Seems like that may need to be pushed back a bit.”

“And why is that?” Lena asked.

Hero waved her hands. “Because of the, you know.”

“Ah.” Lena flipped open her notebook to a clean page, dated it. “Your email said that ‘something of an unwelcome sexual nature’ happened to you at a party last semester.”

Hero nodded, bracing herself for questions. Instead, Lena remained sitting patiently across from her. When Hero didn’t reply at first, she prodded, “Okay. How can I best support you?”

“Wait,” Hero said, because nothing here was happening the way she’d feared. “You’re not going to ask what happened?”

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” Lena asked. Her tone was light, curious, like she could go either way on the issue. “You don’t need to tell me what happened if you don’t want to. It’s not my job to investigate and question. It’s to believe and support you. You tell me what it is you need to feel safe and empowered again, what you need to graduate and get to Hawaii or Chile, and I will do my best to get that for you.”

“You’re not going to try and see if it was - if it was real?” Hero asked.

“That’s an interesting question,” Lena said. “Did it feel real?”

“Did what feel real?”

“What happened at the party,” Lena said.

Did it _feel_ real? It was a question that Hero hadn’t truly considered. Anytime she felt anything negative from the Turkey Turn-Up, anytime an unpleasant memory popped up from that evening in the middle of class or in the middle of the night, she shut it down. She feared that if she felt all of it at once she would break or scream. And she shut it down by internalizing it, telling herself that _it’s fine, you’re fine, it wasn’t really that bad, you wore something nice/drank some alcohol/said hello, so it’s your fault, anyway. No one else saw it so it’s your word against his, and we all know who gets the benefit of the doubt. No one will believe you if you come forward._

“Did it -?” Hero choked. Her eyes welling up, and how was she already crying two minutes into this meeting? Lena handed her a tissue and Hero dabbed at her eyes. “When J-” she cut off the name. He had touched her hips and her breasts and her lips - he would get _nothing_ more from her. “When _he_ grabbed me, and pulled me from the party, and kissed me, and touched me and wouldn’t stop, even when I pushed and begged?” She glared at Lena. “Yeah, that felt pretty fucking real.”

“Then you answered your own question,” Lena said. Her tone was still patient and placid. Hero looked at her through watering eyes and saw the warmth and compassion on Lena’s face. “You know, it’s interesting. I think there’s this misconception that sexual assault ‘doesn’t count’ unless it’s forcible, violent, penis-in-vagina rape, or someone drugging someone else at a party and dragging them back to their room.

“But there is so much more to it. It’s about coercion, manipulation, intimidation, feeling entitled to another person’s time and energy and body. Power and control. Using one’s own sense of power, for whatever reason, via whatever means, to take. To control another,” Lena explained. “And for many people I’ve spoken to, the trauma comes from that terrifying loss of control. Does that sound like how you’ve been feeling?”

Hero nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She still remembered her stomach dropping as she was pulled to that dark corner under the stairs, her heart hammering in her throat when he put his hands on her. Her stomach churning sickly when her cries of _no_ went unheeded and ignored.

“I talked to my sister about it,” Hero said.

“That’s good. It sounds like you two are really close,” Lena said. Hero nodded.

“She’s my best friend. She had...Something like this happened to her in high school. But it was longer, and worse. Emotional and verbal and sexual. It took a long time for me to recognize her again. But even then…” Hero blew her nose loudly. “The sister I knew growing up is gone.”

“That sounds really difficult, Hero. I’m so sorry you both went through that,” Lena said, and she sounded so genuine it almost made Hero tear up again. “How old were you when that happened?”

“I was fifteen,” Hero said. “I, um, I think I turned sixteen during that year after they broke up, and she was just putting things back together.”

“That’s a lot to handle,” Lena told her. “And that’s its own trauma. Did you see anyone about it back then?”

“My parents offered, but I thought I was fine,” Hero said. “I thought asking for help would shift the attention from her to me. I just wanted Bea to get better.”

Lena nodded in understanding. “Have you spoken to anyone about these more recent events? Your parents, a therapist?”

“My parents know,” Hero said. “And I met with Bea’s - my sister’s - therapist over break. Since then I’ve kind of been toughing it out.”

“Would you like to talk to someone?” Lena asked.

Hero shrugged noncommittally. “Maybe.”

“Okay.” She jotted a note down in her notepad. “How did your parents react to you telling them about this?”

“Mom cried,” Hero said. She cried both times her daughters came forward, telling her that someone had put their hands on them they didn’t want, their mother cried. How horrible that must have been, Hero thought distantly. How powerless she must have felt. “Dad’s a lawyer. He wanted to file a lawsuit.”

“Did you want to?”

“_No_,” Hero said, rolling her eyes at the memory. “I just - I didn’t really look up what my options are, because I didn’t think until, well, now that what happened to me was really as serious as it felt. I just thought that because I said hello to him in the library, or at the party, that I must have somehow invited this, that it was my fault this happened.”

She grabbed another tissue.

“It’s not your fault,” Lena said. “There is nothing that you did to invite this kind of treatment.”

“Then why do I feel like this?” Hero asked, her voice cracking. “Just dirty and bad and miserable and used. And stupid, because, what kind of question is that? I exist, I have internet access, I saw my sister go through this, the same sister who is a raging gender and women’s studies major. I used to think that there was no way things were that bad out in the world, which is, god, such a naive and privileged stance to take. But I just never wanted to see it or hear it or believe it of the people around me, until I trusted someone too much and it bit me in the ass and now I feel terrible, horrible, all. Of. The. Time.”

Hero took a deep breath at the end of that monologue. “Sorry. That was a lot.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for,” Lena said. “And your reactions make perfect sense. Who _wants_ to believe that someone we know, love, and trust - or any combination of the three - is capable of that? Whose world _wouldn’t_ be rocked at having this happen to them? Hero, everything you are feeling is completely normal and natural. Even if it sucks, and is scary and terrifying and overwhelming, it is _normal_. And you _will_ heal from this.”

Hero swallowed and nodded. “I - thank you.” She thought. “I just realized. Whenever I started on that self-deprecating line of thought, my sister or roommate would interrupt me.”

“It happens,” Lena said. “Our loved ones hate to hear us talk badly of ourselves. But you have the right to express yourself fully. And _then_ your loved ones can tell you that you’re loved and supported. That way you still feel heard, while also receiving their validation.”

Hero chewed on that thought. “That...makes sense.”

“I try,” Lena said. “So. You mentioned that you weren’t sure about your options. Would you like me to go over those with you?”

Hero nodded. Lena pulled out a flowchart from her stack of papers, a big, multicolored, multi-track thing that made Hero’s eyes widen and Lena stifle a good-natured chuckle.

“I know, I know, it always looks really terrifying at first, but it’s really not too terrible.” Lena pointed at a bubble up near the top. “So. You are _here_.”

Hero leaned in. The bubble read _client meets with college advocate_. Lena said, “Now, you have some options. One: you can leave this room, and nothing happens.

“Two: I can refer you to an on-campus or off-campus counseling center.

“Three: I can help you secure some accommodations to make sure you don’t have to see who did this to you anymore. That can be changing classes, changing dorms, a no-contact order - basically a campus restraining order - or something else that’s needed, considering your needs.

“Four: we file something called a proxy report, which is when you submit the details of your experience to the school but nothing happens unless someone else submits a report identifying the same responsible party.

“Five: we walk down the hall, see if Dean MacBeth is available, and file a report today. And whatever happens, while all of this is going on, you can still receive counseling, or accommodations, and you are protected from any sort of further intimidation, harassment, or retaliation while the investigation is ongoing.”

Hero blinked. Once, twice. “That’s...a lot.”

“It is,” Lena agreed. “I’m sorry, I know it’s overwhelming at first. You can keep this,” she said, passing Hero the paper. “And you can do a combination of those things. You don’t even need to make a decision today.”

“I don’t?”

“Not at all!” Lena said. “I just threw a huge buffet of options at you! You have time to think about what you want to do. If anything.”

“What does reporting look like?” Hero asked.

“Well,” Lena started, “We’ll pop in and see if Dean MacBeth is there. If not, I can peep at her schedule and see when she’s free for you; if she is, we’ll sit down and take your statement. Basically you tell us everything you remember. She has a trained detective from public safety conduct the interview, but she’s there to make sure we’re federally compliant and all that. Then, you can gather any materials to support your case you want - eyewitness statements, emails, texts, medical records. Meanwhile the responding individual, the person you’re filing against, does all the same things. Your statements will be investigated and then there will be a hearing. I can be with you, or your sister, or a lawyer, or anyone you want to have with you, they just can’t speak for you. He can have one as well.”

“Why would I get a lawyer?” Hero asked, blanching. Her stomach shriveled up again. “Why would _he_ get a lawyer?”

“Between you and me? I’m honestly not sure,” Lena leaned forward like she was confessing a secret. “It’s a student conduct process, not a criminal or civil trial, so it’s completely different. Different process, different standards of evidence, no cross-examination - which means no one will be grilling you or trying to poke holes in your story or reputation. Oh! I forgot! You do have the option of reporting this to the off-campus police. Do you want to do that?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Well alright!” Lena said before cheerfully infodumping more. “Essentially, you and him can have lawyers but since it’s a different system it is in no way required or necessary. After the investigation there will be a hearing, composed of staff, faculty, and a student body representative, and run by a board and attended by the Dean. The hearing board will ask questions and then come together to make a decision. He’ll be found responsible or not responsible, and then he may face a punishment under the student code of conduct.”

“What might that be?” Hero asked.

“Probation, suspension, or expulsion,” Lena said. Hero recoiled.

“I don’t know if I want that.”

“It’s up to you,” Lena said kindly. “Whatever you do going forward, all I want you to know is that every step of this moving forward is your decision.”

Hero sat back, fiddling with the strap on the lid of her water bottle. She tried to think it over analytically.

Pros: emotional validation, possible deterrent that he won’t do the same thing again.

Cons: the hearing board may not believe her; needing to bring up the memories and tell her story again and again and again; word of the hearing getting out to the rest of the physics department; him being found not responsible and continuing to bother her as soon as his name is cleared, emboldened with his actions.

Hero folded her hands in front of her, wishing she could ask Bea what she thought. But Bea would tell her exactly what Lena was telling her, which was that it was all her decision. Which was nice and all, except the decision _sucked_ and the outcome was outside of her control, which was hysterical because wasn’t that the whole _point_ of this miserable thing, that she lost her agency and voice and was trying to bring it back?

She said as much to Lena: “But I don’t even have control over the outcome.”

Lena sighed. “That is a problem me and my colleagues discuss, I kid you not, _all of the time_. We’re in the process of researching something called restorative justice, which is more like a conversation around the needs of the survivor. Making them feel heard, asking the respondent to accept responsibility for the hurt they’ve caused. The research is still relatively new, and it requires a lot of training to facilitate, or a contract with an outside agency. Which is a long roundabout way of saying that I agree with you, and that is something the University is looking into, but I’m not sure if it will be available for your case.”

“Can we ask?” Hero asked.

“You bet we can ask,” Lena said. She scribbled the reminder to herself on her notepad. “Another thing, too, with restorative justice is that both parties need to consent to it. So if the respondent in this case doesn’t want to try it, then it’s going to go to the traditional hearing anyway. Make sense?”

“No, it sucks,” Hero said. “But I get it.”

Lena nodded. “So. Those are all of your options. Thoughts?”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Hero said. Her heart was weirdly racing, her stomach twisting and flipping, her palms breaking out into a cold sweat. She took a breath in slowly through her nose, held it, exhaled slowly.

“Good,” Lena encouraged her, instructing Hero’s breathing until she calmed again. Lena looked apologetic as she said, “I’m sorry, Hero. I know this is really overwhelming. Whatever you do, you don’t have to decide now. And you can change your mind later -”

“I want to report.”

Lena paused. Hero stared back at her, her eyes sore, cheeks wet. But she felt calm and assured for the first time in months, confident in her decision. She opened her mouth and spoke calmly, evenly.

“I want to make an official report, and I want a no-contact order. I want him to leave me the hell alone and know that he can’t get away with this.”

Lena nodded. “Then let’s get started.” She stood. “Come with me.”

Lena led the way out the doors. At the hall she knocked on a door that was slightly ajar.

“Come in,” said an imperious voice from inside. Lena opened the door and stepped inside. Hero hovered on the threshold, watching as Lena approached a petite, severe-looking woman in her mid-fifties with sharp features and a fitted blazer.

“Are you free right now, Dean MacBeth?” Lena asked. She indicated Hero. “I have a client who would like to make a report.”

The woman looked Hero over. “Your name?”

“Hero Stratford,” She answered.

“Well, Miss Stratford,” Dean MacBeth said, waving a hand to the chair in front of her. “Sit down, and let’s see what we can do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's my day! well, not my day, but a lot of my coworkers' days. i do that with kids in high schools.
> 
> if you live in the states, these are all of the options you currently have under title ix! and if you're politically active and want to make sure those options aren't taken away, reach out to our department of education and tell betsy devos to go fuck herself! (and also not pass her proposed regs ok soapbox done)
> 
> we are heading into act 3 of this! here we go!
> 
> as always, if this chapter has you feeling some kind of way, here are some resources:  
national domestic violence hotline (us): https://www.thehotline.org/  
national teen dating hotline (us): https://www.loveisrespect.org/  
national sexual assault hotline/RAINN (us): https://www.rainn.org/  
national domestic violence hotline (uk): http://www.nationaldomesticviolencehelpline.org.uk/


	19. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> great, now bea needs to talk to title ix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for discussions of sexual assault and trauma.

## 

Chapter Sixteen

Bea bounced her leg anxiously. The rickety chair vibrated beneath her, rising in a crescendo until Ben put a gentle hand over her knee.

“You’re gonna rattle the poor chair to pieces, lass,” he told her.

“Maybe,” Bea said uncomfortably. She looked at the wooden door, behind which Margaret was currently sitting with Dean MacBeth and Officer Francis from the Public Safety department. Bea had awoken that morning to an official summons from the Title IX office. Ben and Margaret had received one as well.

“It’s going to be okay, Bea,” Ben told her. “They’re going to ask you what you saw, or what you remember. You’re going to tell them, and then they’re going to ask me what I saw and what happened. Then we’re going to go back to your apartment to do homework or at least eat something.”

Bea nodded. She wasn’t sure why, exactly, she was so nervous. This wasn’t her case. But Bea hadn’t done this before, hadn’t known she had this array of options her first and only time around. She was walking into this as blind as Hero, and Bea realized keenly that this was the first time in her life she didn’t know how to walk her through this.

The door opened and the woman who had introduced herself as Dean MacBeth stepped out. Margaret looked tired and drained but composed, and she gave Bea and Ben a small smile.

“Miss Stratford?” Dean MacBeth asked. Her voice was imperious. She indicated the inside of the room.

Ben squeezed Bea’s knee one last time and she stood up. She stepped inside the room: it was a small, completely nondescript conference room. The Public Safety officer sitting at the head of the table stood up to greet her.

“Officer Francis,” He said, holding out his hand. He shook Bea’s hand once, firmly. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Thanks. Um, Bea,” She said, and she sat down where Officer Francis indicated.

“Okay, Bea,” Officer Francis said. “Would you like to have the Dandelion Center advocate with you for this statement?”

“Oh.” Bea hadn’t known that was an option. “I’m okay, thanks.”

“Alright. If you change your mind, or need a break, let us know,” Officer Francis said. “She’s just down the hall. I’m going to turn on the recorder now, and then we can get started.”

“Okay,” Bea said. Officer Francis reached forward and pressed a button.

“Statement for the Reporting Individual, Case 20-26, February 24. Could you please state your name and class year for me?”

“Beatrice Stratford, class of 2020,” Bea said. Her mouth was dry and she licked her lips uncomfortably.

“Alright, Beatrice,” Officer Francis said. “I know this all looks intimidating on the surface, but I just want to ask you some questions relating to the reporting individual’s allegations. I use a lot of standard language during this statement interview, but if you ever have a question, please feel free to stop me and ask me to clarify. Anything you say here is confidential, and you are protected from retaliation from the responding party for participating in this process. Also, anything you tell us here is covered by the Amnesty Policy - meaning, if you knew of or participated in any illegal drug use or underage drinking in this case, you will not be penalized under the code of conduct. My job here is to just take your side of the story and record down what you saw that night. I’m not going to challenge, question, or berate you.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Dean MacBeth murmured to herself in the corner. Officer Francis chuckled.

“And Dean MacBeth is just here to dot all her i’s and cross her t’s. Make sure that I’m following policy,” Officer Francis grinned at Bea. “Make sense?”

“Sure,” Bea said.

“What is your relationship to the reporting individual?” Officer Francis said.

“She’s my sister,” Bea said. She wondered if that was enough detail. “She’s my younger sister.”

“Okay,” Officer Francis said. “And now I have to ask you to go back to the night of November 26, 2019.”

“Okay,” Bea said.

“Starting from the beginning, can you tell me what you remember from that night?”

“I…” Bea opened her mouth to speak and realized it was the first time she had really talked about or let herself think about that night since it happened. She felt herself freezing up - what if she ruined all of this for Hero? What if these administrators were lying, and they all got in trouble anyway? What if she said something that contradicted Hero or Margaret and John just got away scott-free?

“You can go back,” Officer Francis told her kindly. “If you remember something later. In my experience, it gets easier to say once you get started.”

Bea thought on that, then nodded. “Okay. So, on that night, we were getting ready to go to the Turkey Turn-Up at Delta Kappa…”

And it really was easier to talk about, once she started. Bea explained how they had eaten dinner at home and gone to the party. They hadn’t started drinking until they got to the party. They were there for almost two hours before Hero disappeared to get another drink, and then she came back, and this whole process started.

It took about thirty minutes for Bea to give her full statement. True to his word, Officer Francis did not interrogate, challenge, or question. He did his best not to interrupt, and only stopped her when she was unclear about who she was referring to. He had a few follow-up and clarification questions. Dean MacBeth did not speak once and sat there like the proverbial immovable brick. It was intimidating as hell, but Bea wondered if she couldn’t say anything unless Officer Francis said something that violated policy.

Finally, Bea said everything she remembered from that night and the next day. She explained to the Officer how her sister’s behavior and attitude had changed following the assault.

She didn’t mention Lucas. Hero said that she hadn’t, and Bea wasn’t sure if this was something the school could address in any case.

Finally Bea left the room. It had only been forty-five minutes, but she was _exhausted_. Ben jumped up at seeing her.

“You doing alright?” Ben asked.

Bea nodded weakly. “Yeah, I’m fine. Heading in?”

Ben glanced over his shoulder, where Officer Francis was waiting patiently in the doorway. “I suppose so. I’ll text you when this is done.”

He looked at her like he wanted to kiss her, because that was just how Ben looked at her now, but he squeezed her hand tightly once and walked into the conference room. Bea stood alone in the hallway and took a long breath. It filled her lungs, expanding in her chest like she hadn’t breathed deeply all day. It felt like she was drowning.

Lena had offered her office if they needed anything, and Bea just needed - a minute, she decided. Just a minute to not be strong or in charge or supportive. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted to cry. She just wanted a _minute_.

Bea walked down the hall to Lena’s office door. It was cracked open, the soft lighting of her twinkle lights shining through. Bea knocked twice.

Almost immediately there was the chipper reply of, “Come in!”

Bea opened the door wider and stepped inside. Hero had told her the room was welcoming, but Bea wasn’t prepared for the comfy chairs, the plants, the posters, the smell of coffee and soothing lavender from an oil diffuser in the corner.

“Oh, hello!” Lena said, standing up from her desk and walking over to her. “It’s Bea, right? Hero’s sister?”

“Um, yes,” Bea said. “I’m sorry, is now an okay time? I just finished giving my statement, and they said your office was open, and I just needed to decompress for a second.”

“Yeah, of course,” Lena said. She indicated one of the comfy chairs. “Go ahead, take all the time you need. Do you need anything?”

“Um,” Bea said, sitting down. Why was it so hard to think of what she _needed?_ She needed a nap, a cup of coffee or tea, a blanket, a hug from her mom, to go back to November, to her junior year of high school, and do everything differently. “No, I don’t think so. I just needed to be somewhere where I don’t need to deal with…” She couldn’t think of the word; she just waved vaguely out the door.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Lena said. She sat in the chair across from Bea. “For so many people, it’s not even the assault that’s the worst, though it _is_ awful. It’s everything that comes after this.”

“The months,” Bea agreed. “The years.”

Lena nodded. “I think what gets lost in a lot of conversations about survivors is that the process of surviving _changes_ as the years go by.”

Bea stared. “Exactly! That’s it! It’s like - at first, it was just the basics. Get out of bed, get dressed, shower, go to school, do homework. Go to therapy and talk about it without breaking down - not that there’s anything wrong with that? Like, you need to get it out, but at some point you just get tired of _yourself._ And then you move on, but you also don’t? It’s in the little things. I -” She stopped. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come in here and just unload on you.”

“I don’t mind,” Lena said. She glanced at the clock on the wall. “I still have forty-five minutes left of my day, and I assure you, it was going to be spent on YouTube watching TEDTalks.”

Bea chuckled. “That sounds good, actually.”

“There comes a point where they’re kind of repetitive, actually,” Lena said dryly. “So. I’d much rather talk to you.”

Bea laughed. “Okay. So. I thought I was over what happened to me and moved on and all that. And I mostly am. But sometimes, the smallest, most inconsequential things will throw me for a loop. Someone’s haircut, their laugh, it’ll throw me right back. I once was going to hook up with someone, and then when I got back to his dorm room, I saw his socks all over the floor, and they were the same ones my ex had had. The black ones, with yellow on the toes. And I couldn’t do it. I froze up and needed to leave. Over _socks!_ Also, I haven’t listened to ‘Iris’ by the GooGoo Dolls in _years_. Because that was 'our' song.”

“Triggers are funny that way,” Lena said thoughtfully. “They’re so often portrayed as these big, violent, meaningful things that trigger panic attacks or flashbacks. And some are. But others are just small, uncomfortable reminders of what survivors experienced or who did them. I’ve heard triggers that are movies, classes or subjects, sports teams or clubs, the shade of a t-shirt. It’s as complicated and simple as that. And I’m sorry to hear about yours, Bea,” Lena added. “‘Iris’ is a bop.”

Bea laughed. “Thank you. That’s really validating.”

“It’s what I’m trained for,” Lena said. She adjusted, getting herself more comfortable. “Hero told me you’re a gender and women’s studies major. What were you planning on doing with that?”

“I’m not sure,” Bea confessed. “Lots of people say that there’s no career in it, but I just think they’re uncreative. It’s not that I don’t know what I want, it’s that all of it sounds good - teaching, writing, researching, working at a nonprofit. And the skills it hones lend to so many other fields. Right now I’m just applying to grad schools.”

“That’s really neat! Where? I have to rep University of Washington,” Lena said, pointing to the purple felt flag she had hanging over her desk.

“I applied to Messina, Berkely, Stanford, and Santa Cruz,” Bea said.

“Have you heard back from anywhere?” Lena asked.

“Not yet, but it’s still February,” Bea said. “I am working on this thesis, though, since some of the schools are allowing late-stage supplementary materials. I’m hoping that bumps me over the edge.”

“What’s your thesis?” Lena asked. 

Bea explained her paper to Lena’s fascination. They talked until it was five, and Lena went home. Bea glanced at the door and saw that Ben had already left. She looked at her phone and saw she had a text from him:

_Ben_ 💖, _4:43pm_

_Just wrapped up, going to take a minute. See you tonight?_

Bea smiled. She was glad to have met and spoken with Lena, but she hadn’t quite gotten around to taking that break from reality she hoped for. She was still tired, even more so now that she had spoken to Lena for so long and had a combination therapy/vent session and work brainstorm. She replied, _I’ll let you know? Still out of it, too._

Her phone buzzed as she walked out of the building. Ben had texted, _yeah ofc. Take care, lmk if you need a raincheck._

Bea put on her ear buds and tucked her phone into her pocket for her walk home. The day was windy, the weather slowly changing into middling sunlight and rain showers and slushy grounds. 

The wind tossed her hair in her face as she walked over the footbridge to their off-campus housing. Bea hesitated before peeling off towards a familiar, tiny brick building. A cheerful bell tinkled above her as she pushed the door open.

“Evening, Nurse,” She said.

The owner of the liquor store looked up from where she was doing her store’s numbers by hand. Nurse was a middle-aged white woman, with crow’s feet around her kind eyes and white streaked through her mousy brown hair. She looked up and took off her glasses, a grin breaking out over her face.

“Miss Beatrice,” She said cheerfully. “I haven’t seen you in months!”

It was every mother’s dream for her daughter to be known by name to the local liquor shop owner, Bea mused as she wandered through the wine section. “Senior year has been busy.”

“It always is,” Nurse hummed, standing up to browse the aisles with Bea. She actually wasn’t sure what Nurse’s name was. She just knew that everyone went to Nurse in preparation for a party, after a bad exam, for a broken heart. Nurse always steered the students toward what was best for them, even if they didn’t want to hear it.

“So, I have a situation,” Bea announced. “My sister and roommate and I are having a bad week. Well. A bad year. What’s something that’s bubbly, cheap, and sweet?”

Nurse tilted her head thoughtfully. “I may have just the thing! Well, several. We have the standard Barefoot fare, both plain and bubbly. We have this Prosecco, and another section of Yellow Tail. I also have this just in - red and white sangria called Capriccio. I started getting it after a Buzzfeed video about it went viral.”

Bea snagged a bottle of the red Capriccio. “This should work.”

She set the bottle down. Nurse looked down at the bottle, then at Bea. “Everything okay, hon?”

Bea sighed. “No, not really.”

Nurse nodded. “I didn’t think so. Want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Bea said.

Nurse nodded. “Alright.” She stepped out from behind her counter. “I have one more thing you may like. Come here.”

She walked over to a cooler in a back corner. It held a selection of already chilled wine, but when Nurse opened the case, she reached down to a lower shelf and pulled out two cardboard containers. “What do you think, love?” She asked, hefting the cartons. “Cookie dough or rocky road?”

Bea stared at the Ben & Jerry’s cartons in Nurse’s hands and realized, yes, ice cream sounded much better than any wine Nurse may have pushed on her.

“Cookie dough,” Bea said.

Nurse beamed. As she rung up Bea, giving her the standard student discount, she sent her a wink.

“I hope things start looking up for you, Miss Beatrice. Take care!”

Bea waved and left the warm building with its tinkling bell to head back out into the cold. She announced, “I bring ice cream!” into the living room when she walked through the door.

“Ice cream for dinner?” Hero asked, looking up from her textbook. “Bea, you’ve finally reached peak college experience.”

“And not a moment too soon,” Bea joked, putting the carton in the refrigerator. She stretched her arms above her head. “I’m going to shower.”

“Gross,” Hero and Margaret chorused. The exchanged smirks and high-fived while Bea rolled her eyes.

“Peas in a pod,” Bea mumbled, and she wandered into the bathroom to clean up after the day. As she stood under the spray, she decided that if she was going to practice some self-care and decadence tonight, she was going to go all the way. She scrubbed her hair, used her favorite conditioner, borrowed some of Hero’s hair treatment, shaved her legs so she felt _smooth like dolphin_. She put on a pore strip and put in some of the expensive hair treatment that Hero used to keep her hair curls bouncy and applied her favorite lotion that smelled like a warm spring night - floral and fruity and just a little musky. She went to put on her pajamas only to realize she had forgotten them in her room.

“Oh, dicks,” Bea mumbled, and she grabbed her robe from the bathroom closet. It was shorter than she wanted, sending the cool air of her apartment up her legs when she opened the door to go back into the living room.

“I just shaved!” She announced loudly, walking across the room and around the couch. She threw her clothes into her hamper from across the room. When they went in, she dabbed, making Hero groan and Margaret laugh. She looked back up. “Feel my legs, I shaved - oh.” She stopped. “Hey, Ben.”

Ben was sitting on the couch, looking up from his computer like he’d been struck dumb. “Hey, Bea,” he said.

“Hey,” Bea said. Why was she blanking on what to say? Ben had seen her in slinky dresses and bikinis. “Um, sorry, let me go get dressed.”

“Oh, don’t apologize - okay bye!” Ben said.

Bea rushed into her bedroom, feeling her face flush and her stomach flip. For that first second she had walked out, before she met Ben’s eye - he looked at her like she was a present he wanted to unwrap, a puzzle he wanted to work over top to bottom.

He looked like he wanted to _devour_ her, and Bea’s stomach flipped in anticipation just _thinking_ about it.

Her phone buzzed with a text. It was the group chat she had with Hero and Margaret.

_Hero: LMAO you broke ben. kudos._

_Margaret: you tease. you cruel woman._

Bea tried not to groan out loud. _I didn’t do it on purpose! I didn’t even know he was here! Why is he here? WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME HE WAS HERE?_

_Lucas is hogging the kitchen so he asked if he could use ours. He’s making us dinner. He’s really trying to be husband material bea,_ Margaret wrote. _also it's not like we thought you'd come out looking like a porn intro___

_ __ _

_ __ _

_i thought it would be funny,_ Hero added.

_shut up._

_he’s making chicken parm,_ Hero posted.

Bea swore. He _was_ amazing. Already she could distantly smell cooking chicken.

Bea put on a pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt and padded out to the kitchen. Hero and Margaret smirked up at her as Bea made her way over to where Ben was breading the chicken. He was still pink over his face and neck.

“Whatcha cookin’, good lookin’?” Bea asked, just to watch him go red again.

“Chicken parm,” Ben told her, trying to regain some dignity. “Lucas doesn’t properly clean up after himself, so I’ve been lacking the space and materials to cook properly for a few weeks. Thanks for letting me cook.”

Bea leaned against the counter next to him. “Thanks for feeding us. I didn’t know you liked to cook.”

“I did it with my ma,” Ben explained. He breaded the last chicken breast and set it on a plate. “It was one of the things we did to spend time together. It’s calming, the repetition, the familiarity. And it makes me less homesick.”

“Do you get homesick often?” Bea asked. She took the used plates, rinsed them, and put them in the dishwasher.

“Not as often as I used to, but I still do, yeah,” Ben said. “Or rather, it doesn’t bother me as much as it once did. I’ve gotten more used to American culture, made friends and all that.” Ben winked at her. “Want to help me cook?”

“Sure,” Bea said. She went to the fridge to pull out tomatoes and cucumbers to make a salad. It was...nice, standing next to Ben, slicing the cucumber while Ben pan-seared the chicken and prepped it to go into the oven. Domestic and familiar. She could get used to it.

Dinner was ready half an hour later, and the four sat at their kitchen table. Ben’s cooking was as good as his baking, which was another positive tick in the running tally Hero and Margaret had started in the group chat (they’d titled it _ben is husband material_, not even attempting subtlety).

It was delicious, delightful, _normal_. For one blessed hour, Bea did not need to think about anything sexual assault or Title IX or asshole-related. It was as if a weight had been lifted from her chest.

They finished up dinner. Hero and Margaret did the dishes and got the ice cream ready while Bea and Ben sat on the couch - not snuggled up, but close enough to feel his warmth and for Ben to put an arm over the couch, his arm over her shoulders. Bea sat closer to him when Hero came over with the ice cream.

Hero took a big bite of dough. “So, how did today go?”

“Not great, really,” Margaret said. “They asked what happened, I told them.”

“Me, too,” Bea said. Ben nodded around his mouthful.

Hero sat back thoughtfully. “Lena and I were talking.” 

“Yeah?” Bea asked, knocking her shoulder against Hero’s and taking a gooey hunk of cookie dough. Hero slapped her spoon, sending the dough onto the floor. 

“You _bitch!_” Bea cried; “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Hero yelped; Margaret laughed; Ben started singing the chorus of Sarah McLachlan’s “In the Arms of the Angel.”

Bea threw out the cookie dough and plopped herself back onto the couch, practically in Ben’s lap - partially to free up space on the couch, but mostly so he would stop warbling _“in the aaaaaarms oooof the aaaaaangeeeeel.”_

“You were saying, Hero?” Bea asked.

“We were talking, and I asked her to level with me on what she thought going forward. She told me that she couldn’t comment on what the hearing board may think, and she thinks I have a good case, but her concern is the current state of eyewitnesses. Because Ben, Margaret, and you, Bea, can say you saw me afterward, but if we can’t find someone who can say it was John - _shithead_ \- then it’s my word against his that he was the one who did it.”

“Or what, they think you’re too dumb to tell men apart?” Margaret asked.

“I think they just need to give the benefit of the doubt, unless I can prove it was him. That asshole would probably say some shit like I was too drunk to know who it was, or something,” Hero said. “Which is horseshit.”

“Yeah,” Bea agreed.

“This sucks,” Margaret said.

“Damn,” Ben said.

As one, the four swallowed another spoonful of cookie dough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, thank you for reading!  
i also totally forgot - those of you who want to see my tumblr, give me a follow: https://notantherwritingblog.tumblr.com/
> 
> also, don't worry about any shenanigans with the title ix department - this writing is my escapism, which means that It All Goes Well And Is Trauma Informed and People Aren't Assholes.
> 
> as always, if this chapter has you feeling some kind of way, here are some resources:  
national domestic violence hotline (us): https://www.thehotline.org/  
national teen dating hotline (us): https://www.loveisrespect.org/  
national sexual assault hotline/RAINN (us): https://www.rainn.org/  
national domestic violence hotline (uk): http://www.nationaldomesticviolencehelpline.org.uk/


	20. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ben is so _sick_ of sitting on his hands. time for some action.
> 
> CW for victim-blaming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for your patience!! life and work has been a lot.

## 

Chapter Seventeen

A week passed. Hero reported that Lena said that she and John would have a few weeks to gather their evidence. Hero had sent a few screenshots of relevant texts between Bea, Margaret, and herself. Viola was writing a letter in support of Hero. But Bea had confessed to Ben that she worried that it would all be moot if they couldn’t find any witnesses that supported Hero’s allegation that John had done it.

The stress was wearing on Hero, which meant it was wearing on Bea, which meant that Ben was worried for them both. And also angry, and just generally tired of this bullshit. Then there were classes and his senior project and looking for jobs and trying to find an available AirBnB for his mother that wasn’t astronomically expensive or fifty miles away for graduation.

In short, Ben was on a very short fuse when he arrived at his table with his project mates that night. Their one female member was busy studying for a midterm, so Ben was left with just his two other project partners, Brian and Conor, who were rather...unbearable. Conor spent most of their work sessions browsing Reddit, and Brian was just…

“Where’s Vera?” Brian asked when Ben sat down.

“She’s studying for the Solids midterm tomorrow,” Conor said.

“Damn,” Brian said. He shrugged. “Well, at least we’ll get more work done, you know what I mean?”

Conor scoffed out a chortle; Ben felt himself aging. He said, “Not really, no.”

“You know,” Brian said. “It’s like...she’s hot, you know? So it’s hard to get work done with her here.”

“Uh, no,” Ben said. “I’ve never had a _problem_ like that. Sounds like a ‘you’ issue.” _You’re so fucking gross and I hate you and I wish Bea were here to shred you._

“Hey, lighten up, Ben, it was just a joke,” Brian said. “Don’t need to take it so personally.”

Ben saw Brian glance at Conor as if for backup. Conor shrugged. “Doesn’t seem like a big deal to me.”

It was the most non-committal thing he could have said, and Ben nearly groaned aloud. But that would have made this conversation longer than it needed to be, so he said, “Let’s just review the data analysis. I was going through the results section and I saw some stuff that didn’t seem quite right…”

What he meant was _wrong_ and _didn’t make sense_ and _wasn’t formatted correctly,_ but it seemed like a bad idea to say as much outright. The next thirty minutes were spent in mind-numbing, middling conversation while Ben did most of the work anyway. He eventually decided that if he just deactivated his cerebral cortex and typed, it was almost bearable. Until Brian spoke -

“Yo, is that Lucas’s piece?”

Ben’s fingers stuttered to a stop over his keyboard. He looked up, following Brian’s gaze to where Hero was walking into the common area of the library and joining Margaret. Given their spot in near the back, neither of the women had seen Ben at his table.

Conor craned his neck. “Oh, yeah, I think so.” He let out a low whistle. “Love to get _graph_-ic with her.”

He held up his graphing calculator; Brian guffawed; Ben closed his hands into fists, breathed in, released.

“Will you two shut the fuck up?” Ben hissed. “She’s just trying to exist. Leave her alone.”

“Dude, relax, she can’t hear us,” Brian said. He looked at Conor. “Think Lucas will give me her number?”

“Maybe,” Conor said while Ben’s blood pressure skyrocketed. “He said she’s pretty easy, right? He gave it to Leo but he hasn’t texted her yet, chickenshit that he is -”

_“What the fuck are you talking about?”_

Ben snapped it so loudly that the surrounding tables stopped talking abruptly. He glared them into minding their own business and leaned closer. Brian and Leo seemed taken aback and a bit terrified as Ben leaned over the table, looking like he was ready to rip into them both. “You’re going to tell me what the fuck you’re talking about right now.”

Brian looked like he was about to go on the defensive and argue, but Conor said quickly, “Lucas is her ex, yeah? He’s in an econ class with us. He was telling our recitation group about Hero, now that they broke up. Said she cheated on him with a couple guys in the Physics department. A couple losers who thought they had a shot with someone who wasn’t picky asked for her number, and Lucas gave it to them.”

That explained the messages Hero had been getting. Ben was verging on apoplectic.

“Did he?” Ben said. “Anything else to add?”

The two guys looked at each other. Conor added, “I think he told a few other people.”

“Define ‘a few.’”

Conor shifted uncomfortably. “Some project groups? And maybe some of the guys at the gym.”

“What’s your damage on this, man?” Brian asked. “She did something shitty so she gets shit.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that so I don’t hit you in this library,” Ben snapped. “You - you’re all _assholes_. You sit around putting down and mocking women because you know that they can do so much better than you, in _everything_, and you can’t _stand it_. You’re so emasculated and up your own asses about being the biggest man in the room that you’re just _pricks_. And it’s _miserable_. It’s miserable to listen to and be around and be around and honestly, I couldn’t _imagine_ being in your own heads. Because your worlds are small and gray and you’re so limited by your expectations of you think people should be that you can’t get over yourselves when it comes to the everyday existence of how people _are_.”

Ben started packing his things into his bag. His hands were shaking. “Don’t let me hear you talking about this shit again. And _delete her number_.”

Ben stalked off. His steps took him outside, where it was chilly and the setting sun would have looked beautiful shining off the windows if his blood weren’t rushing in his ears.

He couldn’t remember ever having been so _angry_. Was this how Bea felt? Had Bea wanted to raze the campus to the ground when she heard what Lucas was saying about her sister? Did she or Hero even know about this?

Ben got home, shucking off his shoes and coat and tossing his things onto the couch. Pedro’s door was cracked open; Ben knocked twice and swung the door open anyway.

Pedro looked up from where he was sitting on his bed, his back to the wall. “What if I’d been jerking it, bro?”

“We need to talk about Lucas,” Ben said, shutting the door behind him.

"I saw a porno that started like this once," Pedro said, shutting his computer and setting it aside. Ben glowered at him.

"I'm being serious, Ped," He said. He sat cross-legged in Pedro's desk chair.

"What's gotten into you?" Pedro asked. 

"You know," Ben said, leveling Pedro with a serious glare. "Hero. And the way Lucas has been treating her."

"Look, man, I don't like it either," Pedro said. "I think he's being a dick. But it's none of my business."

"What do you mean, it's none of your business?" Ben asked. "She's your cousin."

"She's gone to the school, yeah? And Bea's handling it," Pedro said. He shifted his weight uncomfortably on his bed. "There's not much I can do."

"Nothing you can - Pedro, we _live_ with him. We live _next door_ to her. We can do a hell of a lot more than the school can while it does its 'investigation,' whatever that means," Ben said, nettled. Something Bea once said to him in the laundry room came back to him: _the biggest issue isn't going to be people not believing her, not that that won't be a problem, too. It'll be the indifference._

"Yeah, but -"

"You can't just stick your head in the sand and your ass in the air and think it'll go away," Ben interrupted with a virulence that shocked them both. "Lucas is going around calling Hero a slut and a liar to anyone who will listen, and people are _believing him_, just because he says it, people who've never even talked to Hero - are you okay with that?”

Ben watched Pedro’s eyes go wide as he took in that information. Ben went on, the past months of anger and frustration at this whole situation (Hero and Bea’s resurfaced trauma, Margaret’s helplessness, Pedro’s indifference, Lucas’s vindictive cruelty) pouring out of him:

“He's talking shit about your cousin. Your family. And she's already struggling enough right now after that John clod put his hands all over her. I'd already accepted that Lucas wasn't who I thought he was, and I wanted to talk to you about asking him to leave. But if you think what he's doing is fine, I'll pack my bags right now. Fuck this."

"Alright, alright, Jesus," Pedro said. He frowned down at Ben. "Bea's really gotten in your head, hasn't she?"

Ben glowered up at Pedro. Truth be told, she was _everywhere_ \- head, heart, _spirit_, almost setting him on fire with a smile and lighting up his world with her wit and intellect. He'd do anything for her, for what was _right_. And he'd only ever held her hand.

"She hasn't said anything to me I shouldn't have already known," Ben said. "So are we going to talk to him, or not?"

"Of course we are," Pedro said tiredly. He rubbed a hand over his eyes. "What’s this about Lucas giving random creeps Hero’s number?"

“Just what I said!” Ben cried. “Two of my project partners were talking about it. Lucas is telling anyone who will listen.”

“What a piece of absolute shit,” Pedro said. He stood up, pacing across his room. Dimly, Ben heard him starting to curse in fluent Spanish under his breath. “What do we do?”

Ben pulled out his phone to take notes. "Well, we could throw him over the balcony ledge."

"Let's put that at like, plan C," Pedro said. He flapped a hand at Ben’s phone. "Pull up the leasing agreement. I want to get this fucking creep out of our apartment.”

“I’m down with that,” Ben said, and they went over the sheet until the outside door opened. They glanced at the clock - 10:30.

“We’ve been talking for two hours?” Ben asked.

“Apparently,” Pedro said. He stood up and stretched. Snidely, he said to Ben, “Kind of wished we’d packed his bags for him.”

“I’m not touching his skid-stained boxers,” Ben said immediately. Pedro snorted out a laugh.

“Well. Nothing for it but to dive headfirst,” Pedro said, and he walked out into the living room. Lucas was on the couch with his computer over his lap. He looked tired, Ben noticed - shadows under his eyes, hair mussed. They all looked tired lately, Ben mused. This year had simultaneously felt like forever, and yet like no time had passed at all. Senior year was taking its toll on them all, and this case with John and the school was putting more stress and pressure on them that they didn’t need.

Lucas looked up from his spot, blinking owlishly. “Hey, Pedro.”

So this is going to go well, Ben thought. He remembered Pedro’s words: _nothing for it but to dive headfirst._

“Lucas,” Ben started, sitting down in one of the armchairs that they had gotten for cheap at the local Goodwill. It still smelled faintly of cigarette smoke, no matter how much scrubbing or Febreeze they had given it. “We need to have a conversation.”

Lucas looked at Ben mulishly. “So we’re talking again now, or something?”

“Or something,” Ben said. He hesitated, glancing at Pedro. He hadn’t realized how much this was weighing on him, holding onto his frustration and walking on eggshells in the apartment. Not just his frustration with the school, his attempts to support Bea and Hero and Margaret, but the gulf this had created between him and his male friends and colleagues. He had missed Pedro, he realized, and yet as he sat here, hesitating, he wondered if Pedro would really take this stand with him.

“Okay,” Lucas said. He looked between Ben and Pedro. “Are you going to spit it out?”

Pedro stiffened. Ben glanced at him, saw the way Pedro’s eyes hardened and his jaw clenched. Ben had known him long enough to know that Pedro’s patience with everything had finally sputtered out.

“Lucas, we think you need to find a different place to live,” Pedro said bluntly.

Lucas blinked, taken aback. For a wild moment, Ben thought of that gif of the blond man, blinking in disbelief at the camera.

“What?” Lucas asked. “Why?”

“I think you know damn well why,” Pedro said. “Did you think we wouldn’t hear about the things you’ve been saying about Hero? That we would be okay with it?”

“You were until just now,” Lucas said. He glanced at Ben, grimacing. “Did you put him up to this? Did Bea?”

“Bea’s not the only person with a conscience,” Pedro bit back. “And it took me too long to hop on board, yeah. But I’m here now. And we want you to leave, Lucas.”

“Where am I going to go?” Lucas asked. “You’re making me basically homeless.”

Ben scoffed. “Don’t you have a trust fund?”

“A _hotel?_” Lucas said, sounding scandalized. Ben could almost imagine him clutching a strand of pearls. “You want me to stay in a hotel for the rest of the semester?”

“Not exactly,” Pedro said. “But until you get your head on straight, tell half the school that you lied about Hero, and tell every asshole you gave her number to to leave her the hell alone? Yeah. Get out.”

“But the lease,” Lucas protested. “I’m on the fucking lease!”

“Technically you’re not,” Ben said. “Pedro and I are. Since you signed on over the summer, before we moved in, you’re subletting from us, actually. So. No, you’re not.”

“The rent is going to go up,” Lucas warned. He eyed Ben, who he knew couldn’t afford the extra two hundred a month. Ben didn’t even blink.

“I can sink the cost.”

Pedro snorted. They had spent the last half hour before Lucas returned going in circles about whether Pedro was going to pick up the bulk of the rent, because he was also a trust fund kid (_sixty-forty_, Pedro had wheedled) (_not a damn chance_, Ben had said).

“This is such bullshit,” Lucas said. “Why are you busting my balls over this now, of all times? I’m so exhausted and stressed with this project and graduation - how am I going to get it all done?”

“I’ve been busting your balls since the beginning,” Ben reminded him.

“Fuck off, Ben.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck _you_.”

Ben clenched his fists, tempted to just swing on Lucas. He imagined his knuckles connecting with his stupid face, the crunch of his nose under his fist. It sounded very satisfying.

_That’s for Hero,_ Ben thought. _That’s for Bea. Punching Lucas isn’t going to solve anything for you._

The damage was already done. It was bittersweet to realize that what friendship he may have had with Lucas was probably over now. Ben couldn't picture a way to come back from asking him to leave midway through the semester, and at this point, he wouldn't want to salvage things in any case.

“This isn’t about you,” Pedro said. His voice was hard and cold like ice. Ben hardly recognized him in that moment: he was angry, but _sure_ in a way Ben had never quite seen him. “You’ve been an entitled bully about this entire situation. You’re making yourself the victim in a situation that was never about you, and adding more pain to Hero in the process. Your actions have consequences. And for you, right now, the consequence is losing our friendship and respect. I don’t care where you go. Just get out. And get my cousins’ fucking names out of your mouth.”

Lucas went white, then red with suppressed rage. His lips narrowed into a thin line and a vein throbbed, briefly, in his temple. Then he stood up, towering over Pedro and Ben, and suddenly Ben _understood_ what Bea meant when she told him about her reflexive action to a man’s anger, something she had been conditioned against longer than she could remember consciously thinking about it. Thirty seconds ago Ben had been raring for a fight, but with Lucas towering over them, face red and pinched and looking ready to give the fight Ben had so wanted, he once again hesitated.

Fighting wasn’t going to solve anything here. Nothing was going to change until Lucas did.

“Fine,” Lucas snarled. “Whatever. I’ll pack my bags.”

Ben and Pedro exchanged looks when Lucas stalked into his bedroom, slamming the door so hard the glasses in the cabinets rattled. Five minutes later, his suitcase slung over his shoulder, he stalked out. Without another word, he left the apartment, slamming the door again.

Ben glanced at the clock. 10:45.

“Well,” Ben said. He looked at Pedro. Pedro looked back at him. “That was fast.”

Pedro nodded. “Yeah.” He stood up. “Yeah. I need to - do something.”

“Uh?” Ben said, watching Pedro go to the door. He stood up and followed Pedro out the door, watching as he walked to the girls’ apartment door and knocked. After a few moments, the door opened. Hero was standing there in a worn flannel and long pajama bottoms, looking confused.

“Uh, hey, Pedro,” She said. She stifled a yawn behind her hand. “What’s up? It’s late, did you forget your keys - oh!”

Pedro pulled Hero into his arms, crushing her in a great bear hug. Ben winced at what might have been Hero’s back cracking, but after a moment’s surprise, she wound her arms around his waist, burying her face into her cousin’s chest. Ben heard her sniffle and awkwardly shuffled away, back into his apartment. His phone buzzed in his back pocket, and he pulled it out.

_Honeybee_ 🐝, _10:47pm_

_i take it those slamming sounds were lucas leaving?_

Ben leaned against the wall, typing out, _you heard that?_

_the whole building heard it,_ Bea typed back. _for a second i thought they were gunshots._

_Fuck_, Ben typed.

_also, why is ped hugging hero?_ Bea asked.

_Lucas was a prick_, Ben said. _well. is. i think pedro just finally got that._

_Aaaaa i see_, Bea typed. _well. good for him. what happened, btw?_

Ben sighed. _I’ll talk to you tomorrow? This just kind of sucked._

_Of course_, Bea wrote back. _I’m wiped myself and have class early. Lunch?_

_Definitely._

_kk! night!_💖

Ben grinned down at his phone. Over his shoulder he heard Pedro telling Hero:

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there before. I believe you. I love you, Hero.”

And with a smile, Ben walked into the apartment. A few minutes later Pedro entered, sitting next to Ben on the couch. Without looking, he clapped Ben once on the shoulder.

“Thanks for getting my head on straight.”

“It wasn’t just me.”

“Yes, it was,” Pedro said seriously. He shucked a hand through his hair. He nodded as if in agreement with himself internally. “If you hadn't said anything, I'd have kept quiet even if I didn't like what was going on. That felt good.”

“Yeah,” Ben agreed.

“I want to do that again. Where’s this John guy?” Pedro asked. “Let’s beat him up.”

“I would _love_ to,” Ben said, “But there is a line.” He pictured the grad student hog-tied in front of Bea, Hero, Margaret, and Katherina. “But more importantly, we’ve all been asked to stay away from each other as the investigation goes on, so while beating him up sounds great, it will mess up Hero’s case in the long run.”

“Fuck,” Pedro said. “Okay. Can we do anything to help with the case? Can I, like, give a statement or something?”

“You can try, I s’pose,” Ben said. “But the real issue is finding an eyewitness. Apparently we can all tell the school how upset Hero’s been till we’re blue in the face, but if we can’t finger the lout for it, then he gets off.”

“_Please_ rephrase.”

“Shut the hell your mouth,” Ben said wearily. He stood up. “Well. This has been thrilling. I’m off to bed.”

He was halfway to his room when Pedro spoke again. “This was at the Deek party, right?”

“Yeah?” Ben said, turning back around. “Why?”

“Has anyone gone to the house to ask if the brothers saw anything?”

Ben blinked. “Uh - no. Holy shit, Pedro, that’s _brilliant!_”

Pedro spread his arms. “Just trying to help.” He stood up to go to bed as well before stumbling. Frowning, he leaned down to pick up a set up dirty socks caught in the table’s chair legs. “_Fucking Lucas!_”

~

The Delta Kappa house sat on the back corner of campus. It was the oldest, largest, and furthest-back house on the Fraternity Quad, its location as centerpiece in the back cementing its location as king of the frats. The brown ivy covering its front was just starting to green back to life, and while on first glance the place seemed to be kept up pretty well, Ben saw a few empty Coors Light cans and used cigarette butts dotting the grass around the house.

On the front steps, Ben and Pedro exchanged wary glances.

“What do we do? Knock?” Pedro asked.

“This was your plan, dumbass,” Ben said.

“It was my _idea_,” Pedro corrected. “I’m the idea guy. But nope, no plan.”

“Jesus,” Ben muttered under his breath. “Okay. Well, guess we just -” He hit the doorbell once. Twice. Then, when there was no answer, he started using the brass door knocker in the shape of the fraternity crest until it opened.

“The bell _works_,” The guy said slightly irritably. He was Ben’s height, skinny, with red hair and three days’ scruff. He eyed them all. “Did you leave something at the party last night? We have a lost and found through here -”

“We need to talk to the club president,” Ben interrupted. “It’s - it’s really important, okay?”

“Uh, I’m not sure if he’s here,” The frat guy said. “Does he know you’re here? You can text him, or email the frat.”

He went to close the door. Pedro blurted out, “It’s about something that happened at the Turkey Turn-Up!”

People _needed_ to stop saying these kinds of grandiose things with the phrase “Turkey Turn-Up,” Ben thought for a wild moment. But that was enough to make the brother pause, brow furrowed. Then, as if he understood something, his eyes widened and he opened the door again.

“Alright, come on,” He said. “I’ll knock to see if Berry’s in.”

Ben wanted to remark on how he wasn’t going to at least _check_ at first, but at least they were in the door. The brother invited them in and showed them through a large open space Ben recognized from the party. Where there had been a dance floor were now a series of couches and chairs and tables in the room. A few brothers were doing homework or playing video games. Above a real fireplace was a large, framed photo of the brothers after the most recent Rush season.

Ben and Pedro were shown up a rickety back staircase to the top floor. The entire place smelled like laundry and aftershave and weed and something Bea would simply describe as boy. But it was clean and well-tended to the best of the brothers’ ability in the decades-old house. At the end of a hallway, the brother who had invited them in knocked on a door.

“Berry?” He said. “You in there?”

“A minute!” Came the call from within. After several seconds, the door opened to reveal a truly _massive_ man - big muscles and thick neck and crew-cut hair. He wore jeans and a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off that said _LET’S GET THESE GAINZ._

“Lost and found?” Berry asked.

“Something about the Turkey Turn-Up,” The brother said. The two exchanged meaningful looks.

Berry’s face darkened. “Come in, then.”

Pedro and Ben exchanged glances and followed Berry into his room. It was modestly sized for an on-campus single, all the standard accouterments that came with dorm living set up around the room. On top of the desk was a beat-up old football and a battered but care-for helmet.

“Sorry there’s not much in the way of seating,” Berry said, waving a hand around the room. “Uh, make yourselves comfortable.”

He sat up on the bed. Pedro took the desk chair. Ben, left with either the desk or the floor, sat on top of the ancient desk and prayed it wouldn’t shatter beneath him.

“Sorry to drop in on you like this,” Ben started. “I’m Ben.”

“Pedro.”

“Richard Berry, president of the fraternity. Call me Berry - everyone does.” The brother introduced himself. He leaned over to shake their hands. His grip was a shade too firm for Ben, and he tried to subtly shake out his hand before getting back into it.

“Uh, good to meet you, Berry. But we need to talk to you about the Turn-Up in November,” Ben started, but Berry interrupted him:

“Is this about what happened to that girl?”

Ben stopped. He exchanged looks with Pedro. “What?”

“The - the girl!” Berry waved a hand. “There was this girl in the basement, some creep was - being creepy, I’ll spare you the details, I interrupted them and kicked him out. I went back to check on her, but she was gone. Did something happen to her?”

“I mean, that was pretty bad,” Ben said. To his surprise, Berry nodded sagely.

“Yeah, I bet. What I meant to ask, is she okay? Or, as okay as things can be, given the circumstances?” Berry asked.

“She’s getting by,” Ben said.

“Can I help her at all?” Berry asked. He looked between the two seriously. “I’m pissed that this happened in my house, under my rules. We kicked him out and have banned him from events, not that he’s been to anything since. Any of the brothers will tell you we have a zero-tolerance policy on that shit. We reported that something happened to the school, but without knowing names, we couldn’t do much else. Shit! I should’ve gotten his name.”

“It’s okay,” Pedro said. “You’re, ah, a lot better about this than other people in her life have been.”

“Assholes,” Berry said. “Man, I’m so sorry to hear that. Like, it’s 2020, you know? Women don’t make this shit up. _Especially_ given how people react any time a woman speaks up about sexual violence. It’s a _men’s_ issue, you know?” He puffed out his chest. “We’re talking about Jackson Katz’s work in my Masculinity and Gender class.”

“Cool,” Ben said. This was such a one-eighty from their conversation with Lucas a few days ago that he was getting whiplash. “Well. You don’t have a name. Do you remember what he looks like? Could you identify him?”

“Hell yeah,” Berry said. “Why? Did she go to the police?”

“The school,” Pedro said.

“Oh, nice, Dean Mac-B!” Berry said. “We’ve done some work with the Title IX office for programming before. She’s the nicest.”

Ben thought back to the severe-looking woman with her coiffed hair and blazers and statement jewelry who hadn’t cracked so much as a smile during his interview. “Uh-huh. But, uh, we need someone who can support her saying that _this guy_ did it. Would you be open to that?”

“Would _I?_” Berry asked. “I’ll do you one better: I have three.”

“No fucking way,” Pedro said excitedly. “Really? You’d do that?”

“Hell yeah I’d do it,” Berry said. “But let me check in with her first, yeah? I just want to meet this girl and apologize.”

“Apologize?” Pedro asked. “For what?”

“For not doing everything I could’ve done,” Berry said. “For not finding her that night. I’m glad she’s got people like you in her corner.”

_People like you,_ Ben thought as they exchanged numbers and stood up to go. One of the good guys, someone to stand with and support the survivors in their lives when they brought these issues up.

It felt good.

It felt _right_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! only a few more chapters to go!
> 
> out of curiosity, would people want to read the actual title ix hearing? or are people like....please don't? lmk!
> 
> those of you who want to see my tumblr, give me a follow: https://notantherwritingblog.tumblr.com/
> 
> as always, if this chapter has you feeling some kind of way, here are some resources:  
national domestic violence hotline (us): https://www.thehotline.org/  
national teen dating hotline (us): https://www.loveisrespect.org/  
national sexual assault hotline/RAINN (us): https://www.rainn.org/  
national domestic violence hotline (uk): http://www.nationaldomesticviolencehelpline.org.uk/


	21. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bea and her friends practice for their senior presentations. ben introduces berry to hero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am SO SORRY it has taken me so long to update!!!!!
> 
> i am still working, though granted, i am working from home. it's really taken a hit on me and my mental health and productivity/motivation, which is why it took me so long to get this out. thank you all for your patience, and please be kind & gentle with yourselves in this difficult time. 💖
> 
> please enjoy!

## 

Chapter Eighteen

_Ben 💖, 5:45pm_

_Can we meet up in the commons tmr after breakfast? Around 10?_

Bea frowned down at her phone. _Sure. everything ok?_

_Yeah it’s fine,_ Ben wrote. _I just need to talk to you & hero about something. I know you had plans tonight & didn’t want to mess w that, but it’s kind of time-sensitive_

_Is it something about the case?_ Bea texted. _I know u said everything is ok but i just need to check_

_Yh that does sound kinda bad out of context,_ Ben wrote back, _sorry abt that. Someone from the party wants to talk to hero abt what they may have seen. I’m texting hero rn about it too but wanted you to be there as well._

Bea swallowed. _I’ll be there. Thanks._

_ofc. sorry to freak you out. Have fun tonight!_ Ben typed. He added a 😘 emoji for effect.

It was amazing how easily Ben could calm her down or make her smile, Bea mused as she sent a 😘 back and tucked her phone away. Margaret was laughing at her from her spot above the stove.

“You make _such_ a face when you’re texting Ben, it’s hysterical.”

“It’s gross,” Katherina teased her, her smirk undercutting the remark. She peered up from where she was sitting cross-legged in an armchair reading a book that looked some two hundred years old.

(_Primary source material,_ Katherina had explained when she pulled the thing out of her backpack. _A moldy doorstop,_ Bea had corrected her, and Katherina laughed out loud in a way she never had freshman year.)

“I think it’s cute,” Hero piped up. She exchanged a meaningful look with Bea, the kind of nonverbal, almost telepathic communication that siblings seemed to share. Mixed into that look was _yes, I got Ben’s text_ and _yes, we’re meeting them tomorrow_ and _you better not feel guilty for smiling about Ben in front of me or I’ll give you something to be sorry about._

Bea poked her head into the fridge and pulled out two seltzer waters. One she popped for herself, the other she tossed to Hero, who caught it one-handed and popped the tab.

“When are the others getting here, again?” Margaret asked, stirring the red sauce.

“Seven,” Bea said. She peered over Margaret’s shoulder and peeked into the pot. “That smells amazing, Margaret.”

She reached over to grab a pinch of shredded cheese from the pile and yelped when Margaret slapped her hand with the wooden spoon.

_“Si tocas ese pinche queso una vez más, lo juro por Dios, Beatriz Stratford, lo haré - ¡no! No!”_ She snapped, continuing to smack Bea’s hand with her spoon as Bea took another pinch and ran out of the kitchen. Margaret waved the wooden spoon in Bea’s retreating direction, splattering red sauce over the counters. _“¡Sal de mi cocina!”_

Bea ran to sit beside Katherina. “There’s so much cheese!”

“I made exactly as much as I need.” Margaret glowered at her, but the twitch in her lips showed she was trying not to laugh. “Don’t ruin my creative process. I need to make sure I have enough.”

“You made enough for like, ten people,” Hero said.

“And the others are bringing food, too,” Bea pointed out.

“I am _Latina_,” Margaret said, looking insulted that she even needed to explain this. “My mamá taught me that you always make more than you think you need. Send home leftovers, feed the neighbors, freeze the sauce. _‘Un estómago tibio es un hogar cálido,’_ she said. A warm stomach is a warm home,” Margaret translated. “I truly cannot think of anything more embarrassing than running out of food at a party I host.”

“Brown mothers,” Katherina said, shaking her head wistfully. “I remember my mother making enough samosas to feed a small army for my brother’s birthday. Nothing makes me more homesick than thinking about her cooking.”

Bea held up her hands in surrender. “I’m not complaining at all. I’ll eat whatever you make, Margaret.”

“Yes, you will,” Margaret said loftily. For a moment she looked so much like her own mother - black hair done up, hand on her hip, the other holding the spoon aloft, wearing a frilled floral apron - that Bea had to stop herself from calling her _ma’am._

And it made Bea homesick in a way little else did this far into her college experience.

There was a knock on the door. Bea got up to let in their guests and stepped aside for Maria and Celia, who were holding a crockpot and a bottle of wine, respectively.

“Hello!” Maria said cheerfully. “We come bearing Swedish meatballs!”

“And wine,” Celia said, holding the bottle aloft. “I can’t cook, so Maria did most of the work.”

“I’ll never complain about wine,” Bea said. She eyed the wine brand, nodding in approval when she recognized the name of a local winery, and put it in the fridge to chill. “Here, let me introduce you…”

The two women already knew Katherina, but this was their first time meeting Hero or Margaret. As they were making introductions, the doorbell rang again, and Juliet and Mona came in. Mona had a veggie tray she had picked up from the store, and Juliet had chips and dip.

“Oh my God, what is that smell? It smells amazing,” Mona said as she breathed in deeply. She looked into the kitchen, saw Margaret standing above the stove. “Well this just puts my broccoli platter to shame.”

“We’ll need it!” Margaret laughed. “There are no vegetables in this kitchen, I promise you.”

Something about this exchange sent a dark blush over Mona’s cheeks and forehead, Bea noticed. She exchanged looks with Juliet, who smirked back and sat beside Bea on the floor with her.

“Thanks for having this dinner party, Bea,” She said. “I think it’s a great idea.”

“Thanks for coming,” Bea said, and she ushered in another round of introductions for those who didn’t know one another. Though at this point, it was mostly everyone saying hello to Hero and Margaret.

“When do you want to get started?” Celia asked Bea. “I’m ready when you are.”

Bea glanced around. “Sure.” She stood up. “Does anyone want drinks? I’ll get things and then we can start up. We have…” She walked into the kitchen, giving Margaret and her side-eye and her pile of cheese a wide berth. “...Sparkling water, regular water, soda, and some sangria Hero and I made. Or Celia’s wine.”

The women called out their various requests, and Bea passed and poured and eventually she sat beside Celia on the floor, her back against one of the couches. Bea asked, “What order do we want to go in?”

“Do we know what the presentation order is yet?” Maria asked.

“The history department does it based on chronology,” Juliet said. “Not that that helps here.”

“Well, I want to get mine out of the way so I can start making adjustments,” Mona said. She pulled her computer out of her bag, along with her notecards.

Bea sat back while Mona pulled up her current version of her thesis presentation. With the semester barreling onward, to spring break and final drafts and presentations and graduation and school and job applications (_breathe, just breathe_), the group decided to get together for a dinner party and do practice presentations to each other. Hence the food, and wine, and stack of notecards at Bea’s side.

Mona pulled up her PowerPoint and stood beside the TV. Margaret sent her a thumbs-up from the kitchen, leaving Mona looking more nervous and flustered for a few moments before she took a deep breath and started in. Hero and Bea sent each other “👀” at the same time via text. Bea bit back a grin and turned her attention to Mona.

But Mona needn’t have been nervous; her argument was interesting and sound. She ultimately decided to change her project about growing up multiracial and so her project was more so about gender expression than women’s studies. Instead, she was presenting original research in a case study about queer identity exploration in her Dungeons and Dragons campaign. When she finished some twenty minutes later, she was grinning and cheerfully answering everyone’s questions (“what’s a class? So you can play an elf? Like Gimli?” “Gimli’s a dwarf, Celia, but yes.” “So sessions last _hours?_ How long is a campaign?” “It can be years - “ “With the _same character?_” “Ideally, unless they die.” “You can _die?”_) Finally, Mona got to sit down and accepted a sparkling water from Hero, looking both pleased and like she wanted to hide under a rock.

Next up was Celia. Her project was about something called Solutions-Based journalism, where she proceeded to wax rhapsodic about the journalist Rachel Dissel and her work on the Steubenville rape case in 2012.

Then was Maria, who was researching the roles misogyny and media hype played in the Amanda Knox case from 2007. She flittered easily between English and Italian, translating better as needed when one of them put up a hand.

After this third presentation, Margaret announced the enchiladas were done, and they all took a break to eat before carrying on with their presentations. Sweet, fruity wine did not pair very well with the spicy sauce, but Margaret had pulled out all the stops and everything was _delicious_. Their chatter was cheerful and lighthearted and academic. Bea realized it had been months since she felt so cheerful and lighthearted - with the exception of the time she spent with Ben - and then she realized that that was because it had been. This group meshed well - Katherina and Bea and Celia’s dry humor, Maria and Hero’s natural cheer, whatever was happening with Mona and Margaret.

_This is all going away in a few months,_ Bea suddenly remembered. She felt it more keenly and clearly than ever before. The looming date of graduation, the cutoff between this adulthood test-run and “the real world.” (Unless she got into grad school, which would then be more like adulthood-and-three-quarters) (_oh God, grad school_). 

Katherina would be returning to Boston for either law school or a psychiatry program (to become a trauma psychiatrist, not to enter an inpatient program); Juliet and Mona would be attending graduate school (Juliet to UC Berkeley, Mona to Michigan); Maria and Celia would be joining the workforce. Maria was waiting to hear back from her job applications, and Celia would be relocating to work for CNN in Chicago.

For having spent so much of her college career lamenting her classes, college culture, and wishing for it all to be over, Bea was unprepared for the wave of bittersweet nostalgia that washed over her as she looked around the room. And she hadn’t even graduated yet.

But for now, she was surrounded by friends and family and she was happy and warm and well-fed. Bea took another bite of her food and laughed at a joke Katherina told them and talked with Maria about researching in two languages and how to improve her presentation.

Bea went up after dinner, while Margaret and Hero tidied up the dishes (the others offered, but Hero reminded them that they were there to practice their presentations and that they should focus on that). Her hands were uncomfortably sweaty as she stood up to present, which seemed silly, because she was with her friends in her apartment on a Saturday night in yoga pants and no bra. It wasn’t like she was presenting in front of the entire department (yet).

But she needn’t have worried; though it was by no means a perfect run or presentation, her first three-fourths were sound and there were no major technical glitches in the video clips that she showed.

“And there’s a conclusion, sort of, but I’m not there yet,” Bea said as she got to a final slide that simply read “Under Construction” with a picture of the kid from the “Road Work Ahead” vine.

“Might want to work on the conclusion,” Katherina said. Bea snorted.

“I’ll put that down.”

Katherina sent her a thumbs-up; Bea flipped her off. When she sat back down, taking Juliet’s spot on the couch, she knocked her shoulder against Katherina’s. Katherina clinked her glass against hers in a cheers motion and Juliet started her presentation.

Her thesis was about women’s roles in the textile industry in the Renaissance, a fascinating topic Bea knew literally nothing about. She had lots of pictures of samples and dyes, including close-ups, portraits, and surviving pieces preserved in museums.

When she wrapped up, they opened up another bottle of wine and just sat around for a long while, talking and laughing and bitching.

“So, Bea,” Maria said when Hero and Margaret decided to go to bed. “Who’s the _beau_ of yours?”

“Oh, have we reached this point in the evening?” Celia asked. “Should I get more water or more wine?”

“I’ll get both and you can pick,” Maria told her, and she stood up to pour herself and Celia another glass and get Celia a can of sparkling water.

Katherina grinned just a bit sadistically. “Oh, I have _stories_ for you all.” She pointed at Bea. “I had to watch these two skip circles around each other for three and a half years.”

“But who -” Juliet asked, and Bea groaned aloud.

“Fine, fine! His name is Ben. We’ve known each other since freshman year. He lives next door and is best friends with my cousin.”

“The one who goes here?” Mona asked.

“Yeah,” Bea said.

“Pics!” Maria chanted. “Pics, pics, pics!”

“I -” Bea sighed and pulled out her phone. Unlocking her screen and pulling up the full picture of her and Ben from the party at Florentine’s before the year began, she turned the screen around to show the group. The rest all crowded in over her phone screen, _oohing_ and laughing at her.

“Adorable.”

“What a great candid!”

“Oh my gosh, they way he _looks_ at you -”

“Okay, okay,” Bea said, feeling herself go red and pulling her phone away. She locked it and put it back into her pocket.

“No, you don’t get to be bashful,” Katherina teased. She poked Bea with her toes. “I had to live with you for two years. Every time you ran into him or argued with him, it was Ben this, Ben that. I had to watch you two _moon_ over each other. It was saccharine sweet and adorable, like a kitten struggling with a box.”

“Shut _up_,” Bea said, flushing. “It was not _that_ bad -”

“You were just in denial,” Katherina said. She shrugged, taking a sip of wine. “Not like I can talk.”

“Oh yeah, you and - what’s his name,” Bea said. Her mind went back to some guy Katherina had always ranted about in her classes, snobby and brilliant and apparently so hot she could barely function around him. “You like, couldn’t even say his _name_ for the longest time, like he was the goddamn Babadook. Or is it Bloody Mary -?”

Katherina clammed up immediately, scowling. “He’s an elitist prick.”

“Who’s this?” Celia asked. “Reminds me of some dude from my politics classes.”

“Doesn’t matter!” Katherina said, half-squeaking. Despite her skin tone, the flush rising up her cheeks was impossible to miss. “Someone else go!”

Bea wanted to make a joke about denial, but that seemed too mean. She turned to Maria and Celia, asking, “What’re you two going to do after graduation?”

“Depends on what I hear back,” Maria said. She reached over to run her fingers over the back of Celia’s hand. “If the Art Institute or LUMA get back, then I’m going to Chicago. If not, we’re going to give long-distance a shot.”

“Have you and Ben talked about this?” Celia asked Bea.

Bea took a sip of her wine. “We’re - I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it. This is so new.”

“Have you slept together yet?” Katherina asked. Bea rolled her eyes.

“We haven’t even _kissed_.”

Katherina looked shocked. “Wait - you haven’t kissed before? Even when you weren’t dating?”

“No!” Bea cried. "Why would I kiss him if we weren't dating?"

“Why does anybody kiss anyone?” Katherina asked. “With the tension between you two, I always wondered if you didn’t make out just to keep from exploding. Gonna be major fireworks when that happens.”

“Yeah, just like you and what’s-his-face -”

Katherina threw a pillow at Bea, almost making her knock over her wine. Bea threw an oreo at her, and Hero poked her head out of her room to politely ask them to all quiet the hell down. Pedro echoed her sentiments through the wall.

~

Bea and Hero were a few minutes late to their meeting with Ben and this mysterious partygoer the next morning. Bea slept in late, and Hero’s order at the campus starbucks took forever (weird, when Bea’s took only a minute). But the commons area was mostly empty, as most students were still in bed or eating in the dining wall, so it was easy to see Ben and this stranger tucked away near the back.

Ben caught sight of them and waved. Bea felt herself reflexively smiling back, even as Hero’s steps stuttered for just a second at her side. But she recovered swiftly and led her sister to the table where Ben was sitting with a man who could double as a small mountain. He stood up as the two approached, holding out a hand.

“Hey, Richard Berry,” He said. He looked oddly like Channing Tatum, in both bone structure and the fact that his neck was the same width as his head. “But you can call me Berry, if you want. I’m the president of the Delta Kappa fraternity. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

“Um, Hero,” She said. She had to crane her neck to peer up at him due to their height difference of some six or seven inches. She sat down, Berry and her sister following. “Ben said that you wanted to see me about the Turkey Turn-Up.”

“Yeah,” Berry said. He adjusted uncomfortably. “I think I was the one who pulled him off of you. I mean, I assume, unless there was more than one incident that happened that night.”

“Oh!” Hero said. Then she blinked, words processing. “Oh! Oh - I think I remember now! I’m sorry - I didn’t stick around to -”

Berry was already shaking his head. “That’s nice of you, but you have nothing to apologize for. I wanted to meet with you to apologize, on behalf of myself and the rest of the fraternity, for what happened to you at our event.”

Hero looked floored. “Oh - I mean, I wasn’t going to hold the organization responsible. You weren’t responsible for his actions.”

“Thank you,” Berry said sincerely. “But in our work on bystander intervention, we’ve learned that a lot of incidents can be headed off before they reach the point that yours did.”

Bea suddenly remembered Florentine’s on Halloween night, the way John stared across the dance floor at Hero. The way he had moved to follow Hero before Ben stopped him. With a chill, Bea realized that John may have even intended to do on Halloween what he had at Thanksgiving.

Berry was still speaking. “Even just the fact that something like this happened at our event means that there was some kind of breakdown in our protocol. I wanted to apologize for that, and while we know there isn’t anything to do to change the past, I wanted to offer the support of our organization in your Title IX case. Ben here,” he nodded in Ben’s direction, “Told me that you were looking for possible witnesses. Three Deek brothers, including me, would like to turn in our eyewitness testimony. If you’ll accept it.”

Hero spluttered over her coffee, looking somehow both pale and red and overwhelmed. “I - who - what - _three?”_

Berry nodded. He started ticking off on his fingers. “The one who was serving drinks at our bar. Myself. The brother who was at the door when I tossed him out.”

“You - you would do that?” Hero asked.

“I’ve got the email to Dean Mac-B already drafted. Just needs your okay before I send it.” He looked down at Hero, his blue eyes big and round. He looked almost childlike in his honesty and sincerity. “How does that sound?”

Hero’s mouth worked, opening and shutting like she couldn’t find the words. Finally, snapping her jaw tight, she nodded. Berry grinned.

“Well, hell yeah! And of course, if this clown is bothering you at all, or if you just want any additional backup, you’ve only gotta ask.”

Bea studied Hero. She looked too overwhelmed at this information - _three, there were three eyewitnesses who wanted to speak up for her, three eyewitnesses that wouldn’t have known how to help if Ben and Pedro hadn’t knocked on the frat house door_ \- to speak. Bea suggested, “There’s an order of protection in place. He hasn’t been bothering her, per se, but they still see each other in the library.”

“She’s been coming to the library with me,” Hero said. “And our roommate, and another friend. But it’s a lot of coordinating schedules.”

“What d’you study?” Berry asked. “We’ve got a couple different study groups who meet up in libraries around the campus. The reading room, the common group study area, the physics and astronomy library, I think a brother or two who lives down in the stacks -”

“I study physics and astronomy,” Hero said. "So I'm usually in that library."

Berry made a loud _pshh_ sound. “I can name like eight brothers who study there off the top of my head. I can put you in touch with them, and you can sit with them, if you like. They’re a bit noisy, but they’ll make sure no one bothers you. You have my word on that.”

“But - why would you do this?” Hero asked. “Do you do this for every survivor you meet?”

“Well, definitely the ones who are assaulted at our events,” Berry said. His face darkened. “Which happens rarely, fortunately, but that makes everyone want to get involved even more when it does happen. We help those who ask for help, or offer it when we learn about it. It can be tricky, because most people don’t wanna share that, and even fewer will want to share it with a bunch of shotgunning frat bros.” He laughed. “But - frats and partying are part of the college scene, so we’ve got a lot of power over the campus experience. It’s not something a lot of frats do, but we want to model the behavior expected of a brother. ‘Leadership through honorable and upright living,’ that’s the Deek motto. I don’t take that lightly, and I expect the men I lead not to, either.”

Berry cut himself short, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, in short...no. But we try. Can we help you?”

Hero nodded. Berry grinned, reaching across the table to shake her hand. “Thank you. I’ll send that email, reach out to the brothers.” He looked between Hero, Ben, and Bea. “Anything else?”

“I think that’s it,” Hero said quietly. They stood up, chairs scraping against the tile floor. Then, like she couldn’t contain it anymore, Hero flung her arms around Berry’s meaty waist.

Berry looked surprised, but then he relaxed, carefully patting his hand over her back, perfectly between her shoulders. Bea heard Hero quickly stifling her sniffles as she pulled back.

“Sorry, sorry, I like, never do that. This has just been really hard, and, well.” She rubbed at her eyes. “This is really nice of you. Thanks.”

Berry smiled. “It’s okay. I’m really glad we were able to connect.” He clapped Ben on the back; from the soft _“oof”_ Ben released, Bea guessed that it was a bit harder than anticipated. “You’ve got a good one here.” He tilted his head. “I mean, I assumed.”

“He’s my sister’s,” Hero teased. Berry nodded like this made perfect sense.

“We’ll be in touch.” He took down Hero’s contact information, waved at them all, and went off to return to the DK house.

Hero looked up at Ben briefly before hugging him tightly, too. Into his shoulder, she mumbled, “You didn’t need to do that.”

Ben rubbed a hand over Hero’s back. He spoke to her, but held Bea’s gaze as he answered, “Yes, I did.”

Bea had to swallow her tongue, the words bubbling up her throat - _I can’t believe you really found them and that you did this, whatever happens I will always remember this, I think I love you, I love you, I love you._

Hero pulled away. “You coming by later?”

“I’d love to,” Ben said honestly. “I’ve got a project meeting.” His eyes widened like he had forgotten something. _“Shit.”_

Bea laughed, her breath a bit shaky. “Not looking forward to it?”

“You’ve _no idea_, honeybee,” Ben said. He yawned loudly, stretching his arms over his head. Even the sound of his jaw cracking wasn’t enough to detract from the two inches of his lower stomach the stretch revealed. He winked at her, catching her lingering gaze. “Eyes up here, Bea. I’m not just a fine piece of meat.”

“Fuck off,” Bea said, with absolutely no heat. Ben grinned, leaning to pick up his bag.

“Alright, ladies, I’m off. I’ll text when I’m free.” He leaned in, pecked Bea on the cheek. His scruff was coming back in, and she had to hold back a very un-Bea-like giggle when his cheek tickled hers. He pulled back, holding her gaze. His eyes were a plain, pure shade of brown, like dark wood or hot chocolate. Warm and comforting and like coming home.

She didn’t want to lose him, Bea thought, remembering last night’s conversations about the future after graduation. Long distance or local, she didn’t want to end this when something so, so _good_ was finally beginning.

“See you later,” Bea said, smiling up at him. She watched him go, his flyaway hairs shining in the outside sun as he stepped outside.

“Good lord,” Hero said, chuckling next to her. “I think I’m going to move some of my prospective grad school visits up. Give you two some alone time.”

Bea shoved Hero’s shoulder as they walked outside to make the trek back to their apartment. “Shut _up_.”

“The sexual tension, which always could have been described as ‘thick’ or ‘heavy,’ has now taken on a consistency like a brick. Or a concrete wall,” Hero said, snickering to herself. “And when it breaks? Oof.”

“I’m not going to chase you out of the apartment -” Bea said, but Hero laughed out loud.

“Oh no, I don’t want to be around when that finally happens. Besides, I need to check out some five schools along the Pacific coast. Maybe Margaret and a few other friends can make a road trip of it.”

“What, I’m not invited?”

“I’m honestly begging you to just dick him down, really,” Hero said. “I’m _thisclose_ to locking you two in the apartment.”

Bea covered her face with her hands. “_Why_ is everyone so curious about the state of my sex life?”

"Because it's honestly just kind of dusty down there for you."

"Go to hell."“Because you two were such a freaking ‘will they, won’t they’ for so long,” Hero said cheerfully, laughing. “Now it’s exciting to get to ask, ‘_when_ will they?’”

“Speaking of ‘will they, won’t they,’” Bea said, changing the subject, “Can we talk about what was up with Margaret and Mona last night?”

“Ohmigod, please!” Hero cried. She caught Bea’s arm in hers, and the two walked with their elbows linked on their way back to the apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and there we are! some notes:
> 
> mona's project is based off of one of my favorite papers i got to write in grad school. my professor let me do some original research, conducting a series of qualitative interviews with my friends and DM in our campaign at the time. 
> 
> rachel dissel is a real person! she is a reporter and was supposed to be at a conference in DC around now that was cancelled ;_; she and her work is featured in the documentaries _roll red roll_ (available on netflix) and _ am evidence_ (available on hbo). content warning for discussions of sexual assault!
> 
> katherina's little alluded subplot adds zero depth to the story except i'm a slut for any chance i have to put in an au of this character. i have a little ditty written up for her for _there's a skirmish of wit between them_ if anyone wants to read it, but that is so entirely self-indulgent i probably won't post it unless anyone wants to see it.
> 
> as always, i am available on my tumblr - hmu at https://notantherwritingblog.tumblr.com/ !
> 
> and more importantly than ever, if you need any support or resources, please reach out here:  
national domestic violence hotline (us): https://www.thehotline.org/  
national teen dating hotline (us): https://www.loveisrespect.org/  
national sexual assault hotline/RAINN (us): https://www.rainn.org/  
national domestic violence hotline (uk): http://www.nationaldomesticviolencehelpline.org.uk/
> 
> sending you all love and health in this difficult time. be kind to yourselves and others 💖💖💖


	22. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's about time for some good things to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so MUCH for your patience!! between work and the Everything, it was hard to write this. and then i was like, we all need something happy. so here you all are. 
> 
> NO CONTENT WARNINGS wow.

## 

Chapter Nineteen

Ben was _not_ looking forward to this project meeting. With the exception of a sporadic few texts in their group chat - mostly spearheaded by Vera or Ben - he hadn’t spoken to either of his two male project partners since he stormed out on them. Conor and Brian both kept their responses brusque or resorted to thumbs-up emojis.

But he needn’t have worried: though Brian and Conor were more sullen than usual, the presence of Vera and Ben’s previous outburst kept both men on their...well, if not their _best_ behavior, they were at least _behaved_. So long as they refrained from calling women “pieces” or trying to flirt their way into getting Vera to do their work (not that she wasn’t doing more than her fair share anyway), Ben could handle them.

And because Ben would have their balls on a platter if they were anything less, they managed themselves very well during their two hour meeting.

So well, in fact, that Vera shot Ben a look as their meeting came to a close and Brian and Conor shuffled off.

“What did you say to them?” She asked Ben.

Ben peered up at her from his computer. Innocently, he said, “I just reminded them how to behave in front of a lady.”

Vera rolled her eyes but smirked. “I’m no lady.”

“More than I am, at least,” Ben chuckled. “Say hey to Kim for me.”

“Will do.” Vera looked in the direction the other two left in. “Think they know?”

“I’m positive they don’t.”

“The teal hair didn’t do it?” Vera asked, reaching up to shuck her hand through her short-cropped hair. The brown roots faded out into a bleached middle to blue tips. “The flannel? The pins?”

“They can barely label their graphs. You think they know how to recognize the lesbian flag?” Ben asked.

Vera snorted. “I’m surprised you do.”

“My girlfriend is a gender studies major. She was, like, this close to putting it on flash cards to make sure I knew the differences,” Ben told her.

(The phrase echoed in his head - _my girlfriend, my girlfriend, my girlfriend! Bea is my girlfriend. Have I mentioned that I have a girlfriend, a friend who is a girl, who I date, my girlfriend, Bea._)

“Right on,” Vera said, casually, which Ben thought wasn’t fair because Vera was _always_ talking about Kim (he had no idea how the others hadn’t figured out Vera was gay by now - they seemed to just think Kim was her best friend, or her roommate), and he deserved to get to ramble about Bea for them. She tossed her bag over her shoulders. “See you Thursday.”

She sent a wave and left the library. Ben looked over the table, considering his textbooks and coffee cup and half-a-dozen loose sheets of graphing paper. Outside was the first nice day Messina had seen in months.

Ben pulled out his phone to send Bea a text. _Homework on the quad?_

His phone buzzed some ten minutes later. _would i need to put on a bra?_

Ben chuckled. _You can come naked for all i care._

_pubsafe will love that_, Bea texted, seeming to gloss over how much Ben would _also_ love that. _fine, give me a bit._

_Take your time_, Ben texted her. He packed up his things and jogged down the stairs to leave the library. A great deal of students seemed to have the same idea as Ben, and the quad was full of coeds lounging on the grass or stringing hammocks up on the trees. He found a spot in the shade under a grand oak tree. It was cool in the shadows, and Ben wished he had thought to get a coffee or something to keep warm. But the tree bark was solid against his back, and his laptop was warm enough as it whirred back to life in his lap, and the sun was shining in bright yellow light across the quad, so he was comfortable enough as he pulled up his section of the senior design paper.

After forty-five minutes or so, a flicker of movement caught on the corner of his eye, and Ben looked up to see Bea standing there.

“I’m _so_ sorry,” she said. Her bag slipped down over her shoulder as she lowered herself cross-legged on the ground. She was wearing gray yoga pants that hugged every curve of her legs and a faded University of Messina sweatshirt, its collar snipped away and drooping to reveal one pale shoulder dotted with freckles. Her hair was tied up into a bun that left loose, wispy strands framing her face and her hazel eyes. “The Starbucks was so backed up, and I couldn’t remember how you took your coffee so I looked like I’d lost my mind while I stood at the creamer stand, so I just put in some creamer and stole like, a hundred sugar packets, so I looked even _crazier_, and then it took me a bit to find you because you were hiding under this tree, why are you hiding in the shadows? It’s like twenty degrees colder under here -”

Bea held out the coffee to him, setting her own macchiato on the grass beside her. The sun shining through the trees sent golden specks dancing over her face. Without thinking, Ben accepted the coffee in his left hand while his right reached to cradle her cheek, and he leaned in and kissed her.

Bea froze, and Ben could feel her lashes fluttering in surprise against his closed eyelids. She tasted faintly of mint toothpaste and lemon.

Ben pulled away. “You had one of those lemon bread pastries without me.”

“The other half is in my bag,” Bea said automatically. Her cheeks were flushing an adorable shade of pink, her mouth opening and closing like there were supposed to be words but she couldn’t get them out. “But -” Ben moved to pull back, worried he had pushed too far and made her uncomfortable with his attentions. Immediately Bea scowled, saying, “Excuse you, get back here.”

Then her lips were against his, noses bumping and awkward until she tilted her head just so and it suddenly wasn’t. It was innocent enough for the public, gentle and slow and warm. The spring wind rustled the air around them and the free strands of her hair tickled his face. One hand supported Bea’s weight as she shifted towards him, her other moving to wrap around his hand that, he realized dumbly, was still clutching the coffee cup.

They kissed until the good-natured heckles of the quad interrupted them and reminded them that they weren’t alone. Bea jerked back, ducking her head and biting at her lower lip in an effort to hide the grin that was threatening to spread ear-to-ear, and Ben lazily waved off the onlookers with an easy confidence he absolutely did _not_ feel. He turned back to Bea when their attention had moved on to find her already looking at him. She had given up on trying to hide her smile and her grin shone bright enough to rival the spring sun.

“Well,” she said cheekily, “I’m not cold anymore.”

Ben laughed and took a sip of the coffee. A bit too much cream and not enough sugar, but they had plenty of time to memorize each others’ orders. “That was the goal. Pass me some sugar packets, lass?”

Bea laughed even though there was nothing really funny happening and stuffed a handful of packets into his hand. She explained, “I know you have a sweet tooth.”

“There’s sweet tooth, and then there’s half the sugar in the shop, Bea, no wonder they thought you had lost it -”

“Shut _up_, I’ve seen you make coffee. How many sugars do you take? Four?”

“_No,_” Ben said, his tone playfully too-defensive, and he ripped three packets open to dump their contents into the coffee. He ignored Bea’s smirk as he stuffed the empty packets into his pocket. He took a sip with heavy gravitas.

Bea giggled and pulled a book out of her bag, scooting closer to him so that they sat shoulder-to-shoulder with their backs against the trunk. She nestled her coffee cup in the nest her crossed legs created.

“Sorry about that,” Ben said quietly. Bea looked up at him. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“Um. It’s okay. Do you...regret it?”

Ben was glad he wasn’t sipping his coffee, or he would have spat it onto his computer monitor. “_Lord_, no. But I just did it without warning, so…”

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” Bea said, somehow knowing what Ben was trying to say through all his awkward waffling, thank God. She beamed up at him. “It was perfect.”

Ben stared down at her, at her perfect face and her beautiful eyes and her delightful freckles dotting her nose and cheekbones. She was smiling so wide she almost glowed, and Ben realized he had never seen her looking so _happy_. No stress, no hidden demons, no hypervigilance or argument on the tip of her tongue. Her shoulders were loose and relaxed. She looked comfortable and safe and cheerful.

Ben reached up to run a thumb over the swell of her cheek and kissed her again, just because he wanted to. Just because he could.

~

“Christ, Ben,” Pedro said to him later on that night. Ben looked up from where he was cooking mac and cheese over the stove to where Pedro was sitting on the couch with his Chipotle. “What the hell happened today? You’re walking like you’re in an eighties music video.”

“What does that even mean?” Ben asked.

“You’re somehow both standing in place and _bouncing_,” Pedro observed. “And I know you don’t do drugs harder than weed, so you must be in a _really_ horrendously good mood. What’s up?”

Despite the tease, Ben could tell Pedro was genuinely curious and happy for him, whatever it was Ben had going on. Ben grinned and stirred the pot a bit.

“I kissed your cousin.”

“The correct one, I’m assuming?”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Yes, dunce. The one I’m dating. Bea.”

“_¡Diablos si hermano!_” Pedro cried, jumping up to clap Ben hard on the back. “_¡Bienvenido a la familia!_ Tell me absolutely no more detail than that, ever.”

Ben snorted. “It’s a kiss Pedro, not an engagement.”

“Yeah, for _now_,” Pedro said, equal parts serious and joking. He grinned. “Seriously, though. I’m happy for you two. You’re good for each other.”

“I agree,” Ben said. He switched off the stove and moved to the sink to strain his macaroni noodles. He grinned to himself as he dumped the strained pasta back into the pot and started adding the cheese and butter. He made to pour in the milk, but a sudden shriek that reverberated through the walls made his hand spasm and dump easily a cup more than he meant into the pot.

Alarmed, Ben looked at Pedro. “Was that -?”

“The girls’ apartment,” Pedro finished at the same time that there was a pounding on their door.

Forgetting his dinner, Ben ran to the door and flung it open. He was almost knocked flat when a vaguely Bea-shaped blur launched itself through the door and knotted its arms around his neck, squeezing hard enough Ben spluttered into her shoulder. Dimly, he could hear Bea crying into his ear -

“I got in! I got in! I got in! I got in!”

“Bea - lass -” Ben gasped. His hands weakly went to her back, patting her awkwardly.

“You’re killing him,” Pedro said, his voice barely rising above Bea’s chanting and not sounding particularly concerned. Over her shoulder, a bemused but cheerful Hero and Margaret poked their heads through the open door.

“Figured this was where she went,” Hero said.

“You thought there was someone _else’s_ door she was going to break down?” Margaret asked.

“Katherina, maybe,” Hero pointed out.

“Oh, that’s fair,” Margaret conceded. She tilted her head. “Bea, _cariña_, I think you’re choking him.”

“Yeah, and not in the fun way.”

“Oh, _gross_, Hero,” Pedro protested. “My _ears_.”

Ben tuned out his useless friends’ lackluster attempts to save him and accepted that, if he was going to die, it wasn’t half-bad to go out in Bea’s arms (or some equally soppy, oxygen-deprived nonsense like that). Bea pulled back, letting Ben catch his breath.

“I got in,” She repeated. Ben gasped an inhale, looking down at her. She was glowing this morning, but now she was _radiant_. Ben looked down to where she was grasping a thick envelope to her chest.

“You got in,” Ben repeated. Everything connected at once and he grinned. “You got in! Bea, that’s amazing, congratulations!”

He leaned in to hug her, wrapping his arms around her hips and hugging her tightly, flush against him. Into her hair, he asked, “Which school is this?”

Bea pulled back and held out the envelope to him. A semi-familiar red crest stood out on the creamy white paper.

“Stanford?” Ben asked.

“_Stanford!_” Bea repeated, half-screaming again. Her eyes were watering and she palmed away at them. “I wasn’t - it was my reach, I hadn’t thought they would take me, especially not before I sent my thesis!”

Ben grinned so wide he knew he looked half-mad. He leaned in, kissing Bea soundly with all the comfort and familiarity of years of friendship. Hero and Margaret wolf-whistled and Pedro muttered something about his poor eyes.

Ben pulled back. “Are you going to accept?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Bea confessed. “It’s a good financial aid package, but I think it’ll be a good idea to hold off on accepting before I see all my options.”

“Still,” Hero said from the doorway, sauntering in and wrapping her arms around her sister’s shoulders. “This is so amazing. We should celebrate!”

“It’s Sunday,” Bea pointed out.

Hero raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“I have classes in the morning.”

“I already texted Katherina. She’s on her way.”

“Damn,” Bea said with absolutely no disappointment. “Guess we have to celebrate, then.”

“I guess so,” Margaret said. She pulled away from the threshold. “I’m going back to our place to see what we have leftover to get lit with.”

“Here,” Pedro said. He went to the refrigerator to pull a bottle of his favorite crown rum reserve down. The fancy label and dust hinted at its expense and age, and Ben remembered that this was one of Pedro’s favorite brands, a rum from his father’s family’s native Cuba that Ben had no idea how they had gotten into the States. “Finish this for me.”

Bea looked touched. “Ped, you know I can’t -”

“You can, and you will,” Pedro said. He approached and pressed it into his cousin’s hand. “You worked for that.”

The seriousness in his gaze hinted at hidden meaning to his message. Ben wondered, distantly, how much Pedro knew of Bea’s past with her ex. Bea’s face softened, and she said, “Okay. But only if you share it with me.”

Pedro deflated. “Oh, thank _God_. I was scared you wouldn’t want to share.” He looked back at his computer. “I’ll be there in a minute, I just have to finish this one last problem and I’ll be there.”

“Okay!” Bea said. Pedro pecked her on both cheeks.

“_Felicidades, prima,_” He said. Bea beamed up at him.

“_Muchas gracias,_” Bea said, and Ben watched Pedro hide a wince at her terrible accent. She half-skipped back to the door, hesitating when she stepped past Hero. She turned to her sister. “You coming?”

“Yeah, just a minute,” Hero said. The sisters exchanged a look that Ben would never be able to parse, but with a nod, Bea left, swinging the door shut behind her.

“Hero?” Pedro asked. “Everything okay?”

“Mostly,” Hero said. Her fingers fidgeted nervously. “It’s just - my Title IX hearing is this Thursday morning. I know you’re both busy, but if you had some time, it would mean a lot if you could stop by.”

“We’ll be there,” Pedro said automatically. He pulled out his phone to put it into his calendar. “What time?”

“Eight-thirty,” Hero said. “It’ll be really boring - it’s just me and Lena in the room, so you don’t have to stay the whole time.”

Pedro tucked away his phone and walked to his cousin. Carefully, he pushed back her blonde hair and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “We’ll be there,” He assured her before eyeing Ben over his shoulder.

“What’s that look for?” Ben asked, fake-annoyed. “Like I’d be anywhere else? Think I’m gonna go to Solids with this happening? Abso-freaking-lutely not.”

Hero smiled. “Thank you. I know you won’t be in the room with me, but it’s nice to know you’ll be out there.”

She stepped back, and Ben realized that he was starting to see more and more of the old Hero in her face, as she moved, as she spoke. Bea had explained that trauma of any kind was fundamentally changing, and part of healing and moving on was the balancing act of meeting the new with the old. But at that moment, Ben saw the two parts meeting, the sweet young woman and the strengthened survivor. It was a growth she never should have had to go through, but it was heartening to see nevertheless. She had come a long ways from the girl who hid behind a book of constellations in her own home.

“See you in a few!” Hero said cheerily as she went to the door. Ben and Pedro looked to each other as the door swung shut behind her.

“Guess we better move it,” Ben said, and he returned to the stove where the butter had melted to a puddle and the macaroni noodles had congealed together.

“Yeah,” Pedro said, sitting down and quickly reaching for his notepad. “Katherina loves rum, and I need to make sure she doesn’t finish it off before I get any.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation for Pedro:  
"Hell yeah, brother! Welcome to the family!"  
"Congratulations, cousin."
> 
> thank you all for reading!! i'm sorry it took forever, again. this writing well ran a bit dry, but if anyone likes fullmetal alchemist: brotherhood, i finally watched it and am obsessed with it now so please talk to me about that (also prepare for a ~30k oneshot).
> 
> i've also decided there will not be a presentation of a title ix hearing! because a lot of this was meant to be presented as educational and the new title ix regulations dropped this week, it would no longer be educational and also i'm still mad about the new regs. betsy devos is a mean old waxy-faced cunt and i'm going to sink her yacht and this is a threat and a promise.
> 
> ANYWAY. next chapter will be the hearing! much love <3 <3 thank you for reading!!!


	23. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the day of reckoning is upon us (or, just the hearing)
> 
> CW for discussions of trauma and sexual assault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so! we are now officially an AU - first because there is no COVID happening, and second because we're using Old Title IX rules here. i'm big mad about the new regs and will die mad about them.
> 
> please enjoy!

## 

Chapter Twenty

Thursday morning dawned at the ungodly hour of five-thirty. The week had melted away, it seemed, with everyone mentally and emotionally preparing for the hearing without actually talking about it. Bea rolled around in bed for half an hour before she gave up and accepted that she would not be getting back to sleep. She wiggled out of bed and padded to the bathroom. When she flipped on the light, a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye made her jump back with a screech. Her shoulder smashed painfully against the doorjamb.

“Oh, fuck!” Bea swore. Hero stared blearily up at her from her spot on the floor. Her eyes were shadowed and bloodshot. Ignoring the pain in her shoulder, Bea dropped to her knees on the bathmat in front of the counter. “Hero, what the hell are you doing?”

“Feel like I’m gonna be sick,” Hero mumbled. She scrubbed a hand over her eyes.

“When - how long have you been up?” Bea asked. She looked back through the kitchen and saw, at last, Hero’s open door and her mussed bed covers.

“An hour or so?” Hero said. She stared almost longingly at the toilet. “I thought I was going to be sick, so I came in here. Except I haven’t been sick. So I’ve just been sitting here.” She looked up at Bea. Sagely, she said, “I think it’s the anxiety.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Bea said. She crawled over to where Hero was sitting with her back against the bathtub. The cold tile was soothing against her bare feet. Hero lay her head against Bea’s shoulder.

“What are you doing up?” Hero asked.

Bea shrugged the shoulder that Hero wasn’t leaning on. “Woke up a while ago. Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d take a shower.”

“I should get up, then,” Hero said, not moving.

“Probably.” Bea stayed where she was. After some time, Bea felt Hero slip into an uneasy doze against Bea’s shoulder. Bea didn’t have the heart to move her, even as her ass went numb from sitting on the floor. Eventually, Bea heard sounds from Margaret’s room. She came out a few minutes later, her hair loose and tangled around her head, wiping sleep crusts from her eyes. She startled just like Bea had when she tried to step into the bathroom to find it already occupied.

_“Madre de Dios,”_ Margaret swore softly, throwing a hand over her chest. Hero stirred on Bea’s shoulder, and Margaret dropped her voice to a whisper. “What are you two doing?”

“Wanted to shower,” Bea said tiredly. “Hero was already here. Not feeling great.”

“I imagine not,” Margaret said. She adjusted her weight from one foot to another. “But I _really_ do need to pee.”

“Yeah, we should get her up,” Bea agreed. She gently shook Hero’s shoulder, but Hero jumped awake as if Bea had yelled.

“What?” She asked sharply. Blinking, she looked between Bea and Margaret. Her face shadowed. “Oh, yeah.” She turned to Bea. “I fell asleep?”

“Sort of,” Bea said.

Hero nodded. “Sorry.”

“S’okay.”

Hero stood up, wobbling slightly. _“Shit,”_ she swore. “Both my feet are asleep, _fuck_.”

She hobbled out of the room. Bea rose to her feet and grumbled as her muscles protested the movement. “Margaret, can I get the bathroom after you? I gotta shower.”

“Yeah, of course,” Margaret said. “I’ll get breakfast ready afterward.”

Bea and Margaret switched places, and Bea followed Hero into her bedroom. Hero was sitting at the foot of her bed, staring at the back of her closet where her clothes for the hearing were hanging. Margaret had entered into peak Mother Mode sometime around Tuesday, and had helped Hero plan her outfit and ironed it the night before. Plain black pants, a conservative blue button-up, navy ballet flats. Margaret had insisted Hero take Margaret’s favorite headband.

“Isn’t it a bit...childish?” Hero had asked the night before, weighing the headband in her hands.

“Not at all,” Margaret had replied as she ironed Hero’s shirt. “For one, it’s a reminder that you have dreams and goals that remain intact despite this. For another, I want you to have a little something of us while you’re in there. Third, it’s cute.”

Now, Hero was sitting on her bed, turning the headband over in her hands. Its navy blue fabric was patterned with golden stars whose thread shimmered as they caught the light. Bea sat beside Hero on the bed, wishing that she had something of her own to offer her sister. A hair tie didn’t seem to garner the same meaning. Bea had been so focused on helping her sister mentally and emotionally prepare for this hearing that she hadn’t given any thought at all to the logistics of it.

“What if they don’t believe me?” Hero asked suddenly, jerking Bea from her reverie. She looked up at Bea. “What if they demand I tell them everything, and they don’t do anything? What if all of this was for nothing?”

Bea hated herself for how she faltered, her tongue feeling fat and stupid and useless sitting in her mouth. Half a dozen useless platitudes came to her mind - _I believe you; it wasn’t for nothing; it’ll be okay_. Her old anger at John for making her sister feel this way reared its head, ugly and exhausted in equal measure.

_I’m tired,_ Bea thought. _I’m so tired of all of this._

Bea wrapped her arm around Hero’s shoulders. Hero nestled her head into the nook between Bea’s neck and shoulder. Bea told her, “I don’t know. But we’re going to get through it together. Okay?”

Hero nodded weakly into Bea’s neck. The dampness Bea felt her smear told her that her sister was tearing up.

There was a gentle knock at the door. Margaret poked her head into the room. “Bathroom’s free. I’m going to make some coffee and food. What do you want, Hero?”

“I’m not hungry,” Hero said.

“Well, you’re eating something,” Margaret declared.

“I’m not a child,” Hero snapped. She jerked away from Bea, sitting upright. “Stop treating me like one!”

For a moment, Margaret looked taken aback. For a moment she looked ready to snap back, her weary emotions leaving her temper tethered by a thin thread. Bea thought she would remind Hero just how her roommates had found her that morning. Then she sighed.

“I don’t think you’re a child,” Margaret said. “I think you’re a woman who is going into battle today, and you need to be fueled if you’re going to do that.”

“Oh,” Hero said. Shamefaced, she looked down into her hands, where she was still holding Margaret’s headband. She loosened her fingers that were clenched. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair.”

“It’s okay,” Margaret said. She walked into the room and sat on Hero’s other side. “I think you get a free pass today.”

Hero hiccuped out a laugh. “Thanks.”

“Don’t expect it every day, though,” Margaret warned, and she pushed gently at Hero’s back. “C’mon, get up. It’s already quarter to seven.”

“Bully,” Hero grumbled, but she went into the bathroom without further argument. Bea waited till the water started running to look at Margaret.

“_I_ was going to shower first.”

Margaret tugged at a loose lock of Bea’s hair, and despite the circumstances, Bea snorted out a laugh.

Margaret made them coffee and eggs and toast. Bea had no doubt it was delicious as always, but she could barely taste it. Hero looked slightly nauseous, her skin taking on a green pallor at the thought of food, but she finally accepted some toast as she went into her room to prepare.

Bea finally showered and dressed. She knew she would not be seeing the inside of the hearing room, but still she found herself putting on her best jeans and a light sweater with her favorite soft, purple scarf. She put her hair in a bun and wondered how on earth Hero was handling this, if Bea felt sick enough at the prospect of the hearing. She kept obsessively checking her phone for the time.

7:05. 7:10. 7:12. 7:15. 7:18. 7:22. 7:26. 7:28. 7:31. 7:35. 7:38. 7:40. 7:43.

At last, around when Bea wondered if her phone was going to ask her _jesus woman are you okay?_, Hero’s door opened, and she stepped outside. She had transformed: her face placid, shoulders straight, chin up. Her clothes were perfectly pressed, her hair hanging loose and shiny around her shoulders, the light blonde set off by the dark blue of the headband. Her makeup was the most technically perfect Bea had ever seen it - eyeshadow palette blended, eyeliner wings sharp enough to cut, her lips lined and filled in dark pink. Bea could smell the light perfume she had applied from the couch. She had _contoured._

_Armor,_ Bea realized. This was her sister’s sword and shield.

“Alright,” Hero said calmly. “Let’s go.”

Bea exchanged a look with Margaret. Then she stood up. “Okay.”

Bea knew, realistically, that they must have left the apartment. They locked the door, rode the elevator down, crossed the footbridge to campus, found the room in Franklin Hall where they would be meeting with Lena to walk to the hearing room. But Bea would never remember it. To her memory, it seemed like she walked out of her apartment one moment and watched Hero knock on Lena’s door the next.

It opened immediately, and Lena ushered them inside with her usual cheer. It would have felt like the other times Bea had been through here, except Lena was wearing a white, collared blouse and crimson skirt and shiny black pumps. Dimly, Bea reflected that there were lots of different kinds of armor.

“Coffee?” Lena asked like usual, indicating the drip machine percolating in the corner. Hero declined, looking again like the very thought of ingesting anything made her feel sick. Bea and Margaret both accepted cups this time.

Lena leaned against her desk, her coffee cup in her hand. Her lips left a burgundy stain on the cup like blood. But she smiled warmly at all of them as she asked, “How are you feeling?”

“I cannot answer that, or I will explode,” Hero said immediately. Lena gave a soft laugh.

“That sounds about right. A lot of clients feel that way. But you’ve prepared.”

Hero nodded jerkily. Lena looked at Bea and Margaret. “Are you two going to be waiting outside while the hearing goes on?”

Bea nodded and Margaret answered the affirmative. Lena smiled. “That’s really great of you. I’d offer you my office, but Dandelion Center policy says I can’t. I don’t expect you to try and pry open my locked drawers, but just in case.” She winked. “In any case, there is a hallway and open area near the hearing conference room. My understanding is you all can do some work or study while you wait. The other witnesses, both for the complainant and respondent, can also wait there. Though I don’t believe the respondent in this case will be presenting witnesses.”

“Who’s his adviser, again?” Hero asked.

“Um,” Lena said. She opened a file on her desk and flipped through it quickly. “A Professor Edmund Glowster, from the computer science department.”

“Oh, he’s an _asshole_,” Margaret burst out. For the first time that day, Hero smiled weakly.

“The worst.”

“I’ve heard,” Lena said with a very intentional non-committal hum. “Fortunately, the advisers are basically like potted plants. So neither Professor Glowster nor I can say anything. We’re the moral support. I can pass notes to you, Hero, or feed you questions to the hearing board, but I can’t speak. Though I can ask for a break if need be.”

“Who asks the questions, then?” Bea asked.

“A hearing panel,” Lena said. “The Dean of Students, some professors.” She checked her watch. “It’s ten till. We should get going.”

Hero’s eyes went wide, and she looked to Bea in abject terror. Bea had never felt more useless. All she could do was reach over and take Hero’s hand. Hero’s fingers, cold and shaking slightly, crushed Bea’s hand with impressive strength.

_If I ever get the chance,_ Bea swore to herself as they left the room to go to the elevator, _I am going to break John’s stupid fucking ugly nose myself._

The hearing conference room was on the top floor of the student commons, where all of the student life administrators and programs staff worked. Lena’s heels clacked with loud authority as she led their little brigade through the titled halls. They walked down a hallway lined with paintings of old white men - university founders - and potted plants. As they got closer, Bea started to hear the sound of light arguing echoing down the hall -

“I told you, we took a wrong turn -”

“Can you read? The sign said room six-oh-oh-seven was this way -”

“Can _I_ read? Big talk from the guy who tried to go to the wrong building, numbnuts.”

“I hadn’t had any of my coffee yet!”

Their group rounded a corner to see Ben and Pedro standing in the hallway, fruitlessly arguing back and forth and looking equally drawn and tired. Upon their approach, they both relaxed immediately.

“There you are!” Pedro said. “Ben here got us lost, I was scared we wouldn’t see you before you went in -”

“Shut up, you can’t read signs,” Ben snapped back. He caught Hero’s eye and grinned. “Good to see you, Bonnie. Morning, ladies.”

Lena shook her head with a small grin on her face. “Quite the support crew, Hero.”

“Yeah,” Hero agreed. Her smile was wider and warmer this time, and her hand in Bea’s had stopped shaking. “It’s good to see you two.”

“Come on, let’s not be late,” Lena said gently, and she led the way down the hall (in the opposite direction the two men had been going in, Pedro ribbed Ben, who told Pedro to shut the hell up).

At last, they stopped outside a nondescript door. The plaque beside it read _6007_. There was a printed-out paper that read **HEARING IN PROGRESS - PLEASE BE RESPECTFUL AND KEEP NOISE TO A MINIMUM. NO PHONES ALLOWED PAST THIS POINT.**

Hero’s hand clenched around Bea’s in a vice grip. Margaret, Ben, and Pedro each said their piece, but Bea could tell Hero wasn’t fully hearing it. Finally, it was just Lena, Bea, and Hero standing outside the door.

“I don’t think I can do this,” Hero said. She was looking at the door like it would lead her to an execution chamber. “I can’t do this, I can’t see him -”

“Hero,” Bea said, her tone gentle but authoritative. She swung around to stand in front of Hero, both of her hands on her shoulders. Bea had caught a flash of a figure in dress pants, a shirt, and tie approaching, and she had decided it was for the best if _both_ of them ignore John’s entrance into the hearing room.

“You are amazing,” Bea said to her sister. “You are _so_ good. And _so_ strong.”

She pictured her sister at the start of the year, sitting in Bea’s passenger seat, sunglasses perched on her head, purple-painted toes on the dashboard, chewing thoughtfully on the straw of her Starbucks iced coffee. Bea mourned that girl with a grief and anger that she couldn’t put into words. She wanted her back. She wanted her sister _back_.

Hero swallowed. “Will you stay here?”

“You know it’s just because of the rules I’m not in _there_,” Bea reminded her.

“Like you’ve ever cared about rules.”

Bea huffed out a laugh and pressed her forehead to Hero’s. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Okay.” Hero took a deep, shuddering breath. Her shoulders straightened under Bea’s grip. “Okay.”

Suddenly, Bea couldn’t bear to watch her go in alone. She reached up, fingers scrabbling at the scarf around her neck. The silky fabric sent small electric shocks over Bea’s skin from the static electricity, but she ignored it as she pressed the scarf into Hero’s hands. “Here. For when you need me there.”

Hero accepted the scarf, running her thumbs over the soft, warm fabric. The bright purple clashed horribly with Hero’s blue outfit, but Hero knotted her fingers on the scarf. Her eyes were hard and dry. She held herself with a self-possession that she hadn’t had earlier in the year. Hero looked up at Lena. “I’m ready.”

Lena nodded. “Then let’s go.”

Bea stood alone as she watched her sister walk through the door, her shoulders straight and head held high. The door swung shut after her with a finality that echoed in Bea’s bones.

“She’ll be alright, lass,” came Ben’s voice from just behind her. He stepped up beside her to take her hand. His fingers laced between hers and squeezed once.

“How can you be so sure?” Bea asked. She looked at Ben, who was already looking down at her.

“Because she has you.”

Bea swallowed - tears or a laugh, she wasn’t sure. “How do you always know just what to say?”

“Because I’ve got four years’ experience saying the _wrong_ thing,” Ben told her. Bea snorted softly and allowed Ben to pull her to the waiting area where a few others had gathered. Margaret and Pedro were sitting at a table together, chatting quietly to Richard Berry and two other men she assumed were the fraternity brothers speaking on Hero’s behalf. One brother was a bit pudgy and short, with thick sideburns and scruff; the other was tall, pale, ginger with well-tended scruff. This latter man was _so familiar_ to Bea, but for the life of her, she couldn’t place him.

Berry grinned at her as she approached them. “Bea, yeah? How are you holding up?”

“I’m holding,” Bea said, sitting beside Margaret at their table. She refrained from saying that it seemed a bit too early to say that it was too early to ask how her nerves were holding up. Then again, she also didn't want to admit that her anxiety was at an all-time high already.

“Do you need anything?” Ben asked. “Coffee?”

“If I have any more coffee, my heart may actually explode,” Bea pointed out. She looked over at the two fraternity brothers she had yet to meet. They both were dressed up, like Hero, Lena, Berry, and John; Bea supposed there was a dress code to these things. Their Delta Kappa pins were attached to the lapels of their blazers.

“Thank you for doing this,” Bea said to them. “It means a lot.”

The shorter guy nodded. He seemed younger than all of them - a junior at the oldest, more likely a sophomore. He said, “Of course! It’s the least we could do.”

“The least we could have done was make sure nothing happened,” The redhead said. He looked to the door, face dour. “This is a far second.”

Bea glanced at Berry, who rolled his eyes with a good-natured grin. “Ignore him. He’s a drama queen.”

The redhead shot Berry a look but let this slide. He sat down next to the younger fraternity brother and pulled out a book and buried his nose in it. The cover looked vaguely familiar, as well, but Bea couldn’t get a good look at it from here.

Bea reached into her backpack to dig out her computer. She wasn’t attending any of her classes that day, which she felt a bit guilty about, considering how expensive higher education was, but she also knew that she a) would have felt _more_ guilty not being here for her sister, and b) she would never have been able to focus in class while her sister was up here defending her dignity to the hearing board. But she could at least do some reading, or write some papers, or edit her thesis, or work on her PowerPoint presentation…

...Or stare at the cursor for twenty minutes before Ben sent her a look and, with a sigh, reached over and pulled up a new window. He navigated to Netflix and pulled up _Grey’s Anatomy_. Wordlessly, Bea offered him an earbud.

“This is how you know I like you,” Ben told her as he accepted it. “I’m not afraid of your ear gummies.”

“My _what?_”

“Ear gummies. Earwax.”

“I have _never_ heard of that.”

Bea tried to argue, but she was too tired to, and also Ben was actually making her smile. Ben grinned at her and went back to where he last was on his _Grey’s_ run, somewhere in the middle of season nine. Bea was half paying attention, half scrolling through Tumblr on her phone. She kept her eyes on the clock as time passed.

(8:45. 8:52. 8:59. 9:06. 9:10. 9:13. 9:18.)

At 9:20, Bea’s phone buzzed. She immediately tabbed over to her messages, but of course Hero wasn’t texting her under the hearing board table.

_Katherina, 9:21am._

_Broderick let us out late as usual._

_I actually took notes this time 4 u._

Bea chortled.

_Bea, 9:22am._

_You always take impeccable notes._

_Katherina, 9:24am._

_I mean yes obviously._

_thank u for noticing._

_But I’m *sharing* them._

Bea snorted. _Solidarity._

Her phone buzzed after another few minutes.

_Katherina, 9:27am._

_Yh like Broad-dick knows what that means_

_Fuck that sounded complimentary & gross_

_Ignore that_

_Do u want coffee_

_Bea, 9:28am._

_way ahead of you_

_EVERYONE is asking if i want coffee. My stomach would hate me if i had this much coffee._

_Katherina, 9:30am._

_Idk, coffee shits might make the time go faster._

Bea laughed loud enough the sound echoed. She quickly stifled it, glancing nervously at the door. The public safety officer in the corner, awaiting his time - Officer Francis, Bea remembered - sent her a small smile. Margaret and Pedro grinned at her, and Berry winked. Ben knocked his shoulder against hers.

Shaking her head, Bea replied.

_Bea, 9:31am._

_Gross. & don’t make me laugh, i’ll get us kicked away from the hearing room._

_Katherina, 9:33am._

_Damn. sound like hardasses._

_Guess i can’t stand outside & call john a bastard prick?_

_Hold a boombox blasting “fuqboi” by hey violet?_

Bea snorted again.

_Bea, 9:34am._

_I’m going to say no._

_But going way back._

_If you’re going to starbucks i’d love a breakfast sandwich._

_The ham and swiss one._

_Katherina, 9:36am._

_The most pricey one? Bougie bitch._

_Bea, 9:36am._

😛😛😛

_Ilu._

_Katherina, 9:40am._

_Yeah yeah yeah_

_I’ll be there soon_

_(ilu2)_

Katherina didn’t show up until past ten-fifteen.

“The mid-morning rush is the fucking worst,” she said by way of greeting. She strolled over to where Hero’s supporters and witnesses had gathered, breezing past where someone who looked affiliated with John was doing work and shooting them baleful looks. Bea knew the only reason Katherina didn’t flip him off was because her hands were full. “People leaving the early classes and those going to their ten-fifteen classes _suck_, solely because they get in my way. And none of them know what they want, which is insane, because it’s not like the menu changes. Also, Bea, they were out of the ham and swiss sandwich, so I got you a ham and cheese croissant. Hope that’s okay.”

She tossed the still-warm bag to Bea, who caught it and tore it open and took a bite.

“It’s not.”

“Die, then.”

Bea wolfed down another bite. “How much coffee have _you_ had?”

“None. Just three shots of espresso.”

“That’s coffee, Katherina.”

Katherina grinned at her wolfishly, finally putting down her bag and stretching her arms over her head. “Didn’t sleep well last night, so I had two this morning. And since we’ll be here a while, I had another at the Starbucks before I came here.”

Bea deeply appreciated the levity that Katherina brushed in with her, as if she could force things back to normal through force of will. Bea knew that this devil-may-care attitude was covering up the many ways that this case hit Katherina too close to the chest, in places she couldn’t block with fists. She mused as much as Katherina at last glanced over the crowd gathered, taking in Bea and Ben, Margaret and Pedro, Berry and the fraternity brothers.

Except then Katherina - not _froze,_ exactly, that wasn’t the right word. But she was moving, chatting and joking normally, and then she was standing very still. Bea followed her gaze and found that Katherina and redhead frat brother were each staring at each other like they had each walked into the wrong bathroom.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Katherina asked.

The brother waved generally at the hearing room. “I’m a witness.” A beat. “For the girl.”

Katherina and the brother watched each other for another long moment. “Oh. Okay.”

Then, as if trying to act like none of this had happened, Katherina pulled up a chair and tugged her computer out of her bag. She looked at Bea. “Want the notes?”

Bea blinked. “Uh. Sure?”

She watched as Katherina pulled up her notes, copied them into her email, and sent them to Bea. A second later, her email dinged.

Bea exchanged a look with Ben and Margaret, both of whom were as lost as she. The redhead had gone back to his book with a determined focus. Finally, Bea recognized it now as one of the required books in Katherina’s political science class - she’d had it with her at the dinner party. The back of his neck and ears were bright red.

Similarly, Katherina’s dark cheeks were darker than usual.

Bea’s mouth almost dropped open, and she pulled out her phone as Ben hit play on their episode, because he _was_ a _Grey’s_ fan now, no matter how he tried to argue the contrary.

_Bea, 10:23am_

_KATHERINA HOLY SHIT_

_IS THAT BABADOOK GUY???_

Bea saw Katherina read the text and very pointedly lock her phone.

_Bea, 10:24am._

_OH NO YOU DON’T_

_BABDOOK GUY IS TESTIFYING AT MY SISTER’S HEARING?_

_WHAT THE FUCK_

_KATHERINA_

_KATHERINAAAAAAAA_

Scowling, Katherina muted her buzzing phone and pulled up the messenger app on her computer. She typed, _apparently so._

Bea switched apps to text her. _Did you know????_

_obviously not._

_Yh you did look like you’d seen a ghost,_ Bea said. She glanced at the frat brother. It had been some years since she could remember seeing him. There was little crossover between the political science and GWS majors. The last time she had seen him was - sophomore year? Junior year? She definitely had forgotten what he looked like.

_Good for you, Katherina,_ Bea thought as she glanced at Babadook Guy again. _He’s pretty hot._ Then again, given Ben, maybe she just found scruffy guys appealing now.

_was it that obvious?_ Katherina texted.

Bea hacked out a laugh-snort that she tried to turn into a cough with little success. Katherina kicked her under the table. Unfortunately, in the commotion, Babadook Guy’s name was called, and he stood up to go inside without Bea catching his name.

Bea watched him go, then glanced back at _Katherina_ watching him go. There was such a wide-eyed yearning, a soft warmth in her expression as she watched him that Bea felt like she was intruding on something. She looked back down at her phone as Katherina’s text came through.

_that subtle, huh,_ Katherina wrote.

Bea typed, _so what’s his name again?_

_doesn’t matter,_ Katherina typed. _Babadook Guy works. it’s funny. he’s a prick._

_You wouldn’t look at him like that if he really was._

Bea saw Katherina read the message. Her fingers started to type and backspaced several times, though each time Bea couldn’t quite catch what was written. Finally, Katherina wrote, _sometimes i hate that you know me so well. in any case, we’re graduating in a month or so. it won’t matter then. and today is about your sister. let’s focus on that._

Bea knew a dismissal when she read one. But even more, she knew how to read between the lines of Katherina’s text - _it won’t matter_ then translating to _please don’t push this, I don’t want to talk about this._

Bea let it drop and pretended she didn’t see the single long look that Katherina exchanged with him when he came out again, exchanging quiet words with Berry and grabbing his bag. He stopped above their table.

“I hope your case goes well,” He said to Bea. “I did my best.”

“Thank you for coming,” Bea told him.

He left, blazer tucked over his arm. He did not look back.

After a minute, she got two texts.

_Margaret, 11:35am._

_  
_

_holy SHIT he was hot what is UP with him and katherina?????_

_Ben, 11:35am._

_  
_

_wtf just happened_

Bea hid her laugh in her sweater collar.

~

The day. Crawled. By.

Apparently, they had food brought into the room for a half-hour break, so Hero wasn’t able to come out and see them. Bea thought this was akin to torture, both for Hero and for herself.

(11:47. 11:55. 12:00. 12:03. 12:06. 12:11.)

The others suggested they go for lunch, but Bea point-blank refused to move. So Ben, Pedro, and Berry left to go to the student commons to get them lunch while Bea, Margaret, and Katherina sat at their table. Bea attempted to do some reading, or some editing, but her concentration was shot. Bea was pretty sure a bomb could have gone off on campus and she would have neither noticed nor moved.

(12:23. 12:27. 12:32. 12:40. 12:44. 12:46.)

Ben returned to her with a soup and a bottle of water. Bea opened the lid and saw that Ben had gotten her favorite tomato soup, the one they only had once every few weeks that always sold out in the first hour or so it was available. Bea inhaled the warmth and leaned in to kiss Ben on the cheek.

“Thank you for thinking of me,” she said, and it was only the words that were different from _I love you._

Ben grinned and took a bite of his chicken sandwich. He grinned like he knew what she was trying to say, and it was okay that she hadn’t said the words. Bea reached forward to hit the play button and they continued to watch the _Grey’s Anatomy_ doctors attempt to burn their own hospital to the ground (metaphorically, of course. Ben still didn’t know about the real fire in season 13.)

(12:55. 1:02. 1:08. 1:11. 1:14. 1:18.)

Berry was finally called in. He stood up, straightening his tie and smoothing his shirt. He smiled bracingly down at Bea’s table.

“I’ll be back soon.” He grinned and suddenly looked very boyish. “I’m used to being the heavy hitter.”

He went inside. Ben reached down and grasped her hand. His thumb traced over her knuckles in gentle, soothing swipes. Bea focused more on that than on the show (but not more than her soup).

(1:23. 1:27. 1:36. 1:39. 1:45. 1:53. 2:00.)

Berry finally exited the room at 2:30. His expression was somewhat thunderous, but he took a breath and relaxed himself as he approached.

“How was it?” Bea asked. “What happened?”

“I kind of wish I’d punched that guy when I had the chance,” Berry admitted.

“What did he say?” Katherina asked. Her tone was light but her eyes were dangerous. It made Bea think of all of the tournament trophies she knew Katherina had in her room back home.

“Oh, he didn’t say anything,” Berry said. Either he completely missed this note of warning, or he was just brushing past it. “He couldn’t, really, while I was speaking. But you can tell, you know? That he’s an entitled little prick. Can’t really say much else.”

Bea grimaced but nodded. “Sure thing.”

“Want me to stay?” Berry asked. He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got an eboard meeting at six, but I’m free until then.”

Bea shook her head. “I’m okay. Unless Hero asked for it? But I think we’re good here.”

Berry nodded and held out a hand. “Will do. Thank you for letting me help. Ask Hero to let me know what happens? If she’s okay with it. And let me know if the Delta Kappa fraternity can continue to support you all.”

Bea shook his hand. So did Ben, Pedro, Margaret, and a bemused Katherina. Then Berry left, his heavy footsteps echoing as he went down the stairs.

“What an interesting man,” Margaret observed. She exchanged looks with Bea and returned to her reading. Bea and Ben continued with _Grey’s._

(2:42. 2:44. 2:49. 2:53. 2:58. 3:07.)

Something occurred to Bea around 3:15. “What if this isn’t done today?”

She knew that multi-day hearings happened, and fairly often. In particularly egregious cases, or cases with a lot of witnesses, or cases that had a lawyer involved. But she hadn’t thought that Hero’s case fit any of those criteria. She wasn’t sure if she could handle doing this for another day, and she could only assume Hero was in the same boat. 

Margaret said simply, “Then we’ll be here tomorrow.”

Bea nodded once in agreement. Ben squeezed her hand again.

(3:15. 3:19. 3:23. 3:27. 3:30. 3:32.)

The hearing room doors opened at a quarter to four.

As one, everyone’s heads swiveled in the direction. First was dour-looking Professor Glowster, shortly followed by John, who was scowling slightly and loosening his tie. His eyes met Bea’s, dark and resentful. He looked for a moment like he was about to stomp over to them. Dimly, Bea registered Margaret’s intake of breath, Pedro’s lip curling, Ben’s body tensing in front of Bea’s, Katherina cracking her knuckles like she was raring for a fight.

Bea coolly held his gaze, her expression remaining placid. Her only response was to raise her chin a fraction of an inch.

The second seemed to draw out forever. But then John broke eye contact, and he disappeared down the hallway.

Then came what looked like the hearing panel, an assortment of professors and deans that Bea didn’t recognize. At last, Lena and Hero exited the room.

Bea was standing before she even realized it, yanking her earbud painfully out of one ear and hastening to Hero.

“How was it?” Bea asked. “How did it go?”

Hero looked exhausted. The slightly smudged mascara under her eyes hinted at earlier tears, but her eyes were dry. In fact, she smiled faintly at her sister as she approached.

“I’m okay,” Hero said. “And it went okay.”

“It went _better_ than okay,” Lena said. She was beaming. “Hero was wonderful. Very poised, very well-spoken.” To Hero, she added, “I’m so proud of you.”

Bea hugged Hero tightly. Hero’s body was looser than it had been when she awoke that morning. It seemed that now that things were done, some of the tension Hero had been holding for months was beginning to melt away.

Hero mumbled to Bea, “Do I smell?”

Bea pulled back, confused. “You showered this morning. Why would you smell?”

“Because I realized at nine a.m. that I forgot to put on deodorant, and I got, like, _really_ stress-sweaty,” Hero whispered conspiratorially. Bea laughed aloud.

“This all seems like a good sign,” Margaret observed as she approached. “How was it?”

“It’s done!” Hero said. Color was returning to her cheeks. “I’m so tired, I don’t want to go too into it, but I feel really good about it. The other guys were super supportive and helpful. John made an ass of himself. But when I said I wanted an apology as part of my ideal solution to the case, he didn’t argue it.”

“That’s great!” Margaret said. She leaned over to hug Hero after Bea. As she was holding her, Margaret added, “Now we just have to make Lucas get that, too.”

Hero laughed as Margaret was switched out for Katherina, and then Ben. Lena, who had been watching this hugging train with a satisfied smile, frowned in confusion.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I follow. Who’s Lucas?”

The others groaned in tandem. Hero explained, “He’s my ex. We were dating - kind of? -”

“You were dating,” Bea and Margaret said in tandem. Pedro nodded in agreement.

“Wanker,” Ben added for the pleasure of insulting Lucas, it seemed.

“We were dating,” Hero corrected, “Until this thing with John happened. He didn’t take it well.”

It was the first time Bea could remember Hero saying John’s name in front of her since November. She was too surprised to comment, but Margaret had no such compunctions.

“Didn’t _take it well?_ Hero, you’re too kind.” Margaret turned to Lena. “He was a vindictive little shit about the whole thing. Flipped the whole thing around and insinuated Hero asked for it, said Hero had cheated on him, spread rumors around the business majors.”

Lena’s eyebrows shot toward her hairline. She opened her mouth to speak, but Pedro beat her to it.

“He gave a bunch of dudes her number because he told them she was easy,” Pedro added gravely. To Hero, he added, “You got some weird messages, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” Hero said. “It was really weird, because I didn’t know about this until Bea’s friend overheard them and told us. So I had no idea how these guys had gotten my number. Some told me it was Lucas when I asked, but most refused to say. It was kind of scary.”

Lena looked momentarily speechless. “I didn’t know about this.”

“Oh, yeah,” Hero said. “I’m sorry. I just know we had this case, and since we weren’t dating anymore and he didn’t assault me, I didn’t think it was worth bringing up.”

Lena looked for a moment like she was struggling for words. Finally, she said, “Hero, a lot of the things you all are describing to me sound like pretty severe sexual harassment. Possibly dating violence or retaliation - I have - um, some questions. But you are protected under Title IX from that, as well. So you do have the option of reporting him and any of the others who have harassed you to the Title IX office, if you want to consider that.”

“What?” Hero asked. She looked gobsmacked. Bea wasn’t doing much better.

“Yes,” Lena said. “Spreading rumors, giving out your personal contact information to multiple people without your consent...just based off of what you told me, those are pretty serious violations of Title IX and the student code of conduct. I know you just finished - all that,” she said, waving at the door to the hearing room, “And now we have to wait for the hearing board’s decision, but if you’re up to it, I very much would like to talk about what you just told me.”

“But -” Hero seemed to be struggling to catch up. “Lucas spreading the rumors, calling me a slut and a cheater and easy, giving out my number...those are all Title IX violations, too?”

Lena nodded. “Very much so.”

“Oh.” Hero said. She looked at Bea. “That’s interesting.”

And then she started laughing.

It was exhausted, slightly manic, borderline hysterical laughter, but laughter nevertheless. Her face flushed with color from the exertion, her hair and shoulders shaking. Her breaths were wheezy, her voice high-pitched as she tried to speak through loud, barking, echoing laughter.

“Sorry, sorry,” Hero said, “I must look insane - it’s just -” She hiccuped, trying to get herself under control. “All of this - everything that’s happened this year! All of the _bullshit_ I went through! Everyone who did this to me! I was ‘protected’ from it, whatever that means! Well, if I was protected from it, it’s fine! And I didn’t even _know I was protected!_ And, and -” Hero dabbed at her eyes, which were watering from her mirth. Her mascara smeared slightly, but her eyeliner stayed perfectly in place. Bea thought it would be a good time to send in a review to whoever made it. “-This isn’t new! Title IX isn’t new! Rape isn’t new! It’s pretty commonly known that you don’t kiss a girl and grab her tits unless she’s into it! But I just went through this whole school year, broke up with my shitty boyfriend, sat in a room for eight hours _duking it out_ with a bunch of professors I’ve never met to make others believe I didn’t ask for this! That this wasn’t my fault! I spent this _half the year_ convincing _myself_ that!”

Hero looked at Lena. “I’m sorry, this isn’t directed at you, but I just -” She let out a great, shuddering breath. “What the fuck is the point, all this policy and the hearings and shit, if it’s all after the fact? John getting suspended or Lucas getting a kick in the balls is putting a band-aid on an arterial bleed. It’s not going to fucking fix the issue. The damage is done. They hurt me. I’m still bleeding. Bleeding and healing and growing and clearly losing my mind, because this is _so_ funny to me, and I just sat in there answering questions about my grades since the Turkey Turn-Up - which is such a _ridiculous_ thing to say - as if my academic performance since then somehow lessens or mitigates what happened to me - and I’m thinking about my fucking data analysis and the star charts I need to study! Because I’m a student, but _no_, I’m a _female_ student, so that means that I’m free game for any low-life mouth-breather who needs a power trip just to _get it up!”_

Hero’s voice echoed down the empty hallway. Bea’s eyes were wide, half-terrified for her sister and half on the verge of breaking into applause. Soft-spoken Hero, whom? The young woman standing in front of Bea looked furious and feral and more alive than Bea had seen her since November.

“I see.” Lena’s expression was still carefully neutral, but Bea could see the grin twitching at the corner of her lips. “How did that feel?”

“It felt-” Hero huffed out sharply through her nose. “- _really_ good.”

“Excellent,” Lena said. She pulled out her phone, her fingers flipping over the screen. “I have an availability at ten tomorrow. Does that work?”

“It works great,” Hero said.

Lena beamed. “Excellent. I’ll email you a confirmation. Take the night easy - you deserve to celebrate.” She looked at the rest of their group. “You all know where to find me if you need anything. If you’ll excuse me, I need to finish some paperwork.”

With a last wave and grin at Hero, Lena left. There was a distinct spring in her step as her heels clacked loudly on the floors, fading in the distance.

Margaret looked agape. “You ever think about slam poetry?”

“Screw that,” Katherina said jovially, “Damn, Hero. You ever think about boxing?”

Hero grinned weakly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to totally lose it there.”

“Remember what I said?” Margaret asked. “Free pass today.”

“That was _awesome_,” Pedro added.

Hero blushed. Then she made a face, and Bea could hear her stomach grumbling from where she stood.

“Sorry,” Hero said, putting a hand to her stomach. “I’ve really not been hungry all day, and everything just got to me at once. But suddenly I’m _starving_.”

“What d’you want?” Bea asked. Hero turned to go, finally leaving the hearing room behind. Her steps were lighter as they walked downstairs to the early afternoon sun of the quad.

“I want a burger,” Hero said. She held up her hands like she was picturing it. “Like, the juiciest, greasiest burger I can get my hands on.”

Bea glanced at Ben. They exchanged knowing grins. Bea said, “I know a place.”

They all stopped briefly at their apartment building to drop their bags and let Hero change into something more comfortable. Then, because of the fine weather, they decided to walk to the restaurant.

“Where is this?” Hero asked Bea. She had put on jeans and a plain t-shirt, wrapping her sister’s scarf around her neck.

“End of college town,” Bea said. Her right hand swung cheerfully as she walked in step with Ben, but she used her left one to loop and arm through Hero’s. “Great burgers. Lots of grease. Booze.”

“They have a photo of me on the wall,” Ben said, which made Bea scoff out a laugh as the others looked on in bemusement.

“A ‘do not enter’ sign?” Katherina asked.

“A ‘you must be this tall to ride’ sign?” Pedro sniped.

“That’s for me,” Katherina said over Bea and Hero laughing and Ben groaning.

“Oh really?” Pedro asked flirtatiously. “I can’t wait to see if I measure up.”

Katherina rolled her eyes but bit back a smirk. “You won’t.”

“It depends on what they’re measuring.”

“Oh, gross, _gross_,” Hero protested while Bea cackled. “I _just_ got my appetite back -”

They entered Harry’s bar a few moments later, fortunately, cutting off the topic in the bustle of getting to a corner booth. Bea found herself cozily nestled between Ben and Katherina, while Hero, Margaret, and Pedro took the opposite side. The long table was more than large enough for the six of them as they poured over the menus.

Bea allowed herself to melt into Ben’s side as the others chattered around her -

“Who wants to split wings?”

“They have _spiked milkshakes?”_

“This bacon-cheddar burger looks incredible, think I can put egg on it?”

“American cheese is the best on burgers, no questions -”

“_-American Cheese?_ You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“No, but I kiss yours.”

“Hey, enough of that! Anyone want to split some beers? There’s some decent brews on tap.”

Bea reached under the table to take Ben’s hand. He paused his scan of the beer list to look down at her.

“Thank you,” she said to him.

Ben grinned good-naturedly. “For what, lass?”

“For -” _For being here, for me. For standing up to Lucas. For standing with Hero and me. For being you. For listening. For being my best friend._ “-Just for everything.”

Ben’s smile turned to something soft and so tender Bea almost had to look away. “Thank you for letting me.”

He leaned in to press a gentle kiss to her mouth. It still sent electric jolts through her whole body, kissing him, feeling his warm weight against her. They hadn’t even properly made out yet, and then there was everything else - Bea had barely scratched the surface of all the things she wanted to do with - and to - him, and just thinking of it made her dizzy with possibilities.

The cat-calls of the others broke Bea out of her reverie, and she pulled back, flushing.

“Boo!” Pedro was calling. “No consideration for the single people!”

“Get a room,” Hero said.

“Fine, fine,” Bea said, and she reluctantly pulled away from Ben and turned back to her menu.

Dinner arrived quickly - good drinks flowing and better food warming their bellies. Margaret, Hero, and Pedro challenged each other to see who could eat the most hot wings without needing to sip water, a competition Katherina roundly won but wouldn’t claim credit for (Pedro swore he won by a technicality). The egg yolk in Ben’s burger popped at the worst moment and sent slimy yellow goo dribbling all down his front. Bea inhaled her burger in about two minutes and spent the rest of her meal trying to steal Hero’s fries.

Hero slapped her hand away with greasy palms, levying Bea with a threatening glare that quickly faded away into a good-natured, genuine laugh. She was eating politely but messily, never once looking around to see who was watching her eat what. It wasn’t the same as she was before, but this, Bea mused - this was excellent, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!!!! i've been so excited and ready for this chapter for MONTHS. 
> 
> part of me was worried hero was too all over the place or wishy-washy about her emotions this chapter, but then i imagined all of the emotions a survivor must be feeling going in there - trying to be brave, struggling to be, trying to keep positive for themselves and their loved ones.
> 
> bea and katherina's friendship is exactly how me and my bff text each other.
> 
> as always, i am available on my tumblr - hmu at https://notantherwritingblog.tumblr.com/ !
> 
> i hope this didn't come across as too preachy? because i do have some interesting things i want to do with lucas. 
> 
> as always, please utilize any of the following resources if you need! they are all still available during this Quarantine.  
national domestic violence hotline (us): https://www.thehotline.org/  
national teen dating hotline (us): https://www.loveisrespect.org/  
national sexual assault hotline/RAINN (us): https://www.rainn.org/  
national domestic violence hotline (uk): http://www.nationaldomesticviolencehelpline.org.uk/


	24. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there are just a few loose ends to tie up.
> 
> CW for memories of victim-blaming, lucas doing lucas things, and some sexual themes ( ;) )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, crawling briefly out of the sucking whole that is the fullmetal alchemist fandom: I'M HERE I'M SORRY.
> 
> i'm so sorry this has taken so long!!!! thank you for your patience and i present to you the final chapter of this story!!! just a lil epilogue after this. 
> 
> i know i'm a mess bc things are shit in my country right now. wherever you're reading from, i hope you're safe and okay!! i sent my love.

## 

Chapter Twenty-One

“You’re not paying attention to the movie.”

It took Ben a minute to process Bea’s words. Truthfully, he was much more interested in the catch in Bea’s voice when his mouth trailed over a spot just below her ear.

“I’ve already seen it,” He said.

Bea pulled away from him, sending him a mock-glare that did not in any way leave him feeling chastised. “But I haven’t.”

“You have described Benedict Cumberbatch as the missing link between humans and sharks.”

“And I stand by that. But you’re making it _hard to focus_ on making fun of him properly,” Bea said. Her fingers flipped over the computer keys, pausing their halfhearted watch of _Doctor Strange._ “I thought this was movie night.”

“And I thought this was laundry night, but we gave up on that pretense around October, lass,” Ben said, just to be difficult. She was wearing a tank top in the warmth of the laundry room - the rickety old dryers were not, shall we say, _energy efficient_ \- and he watched in fascination as he trailed his fingers over the freckles of her shoulders, connecting them like dots.

Bea said something that Ben could not have repeated for the life of him. He blinked himself out of his reverie, peering down at her. “What’s that?”

Bea rolled her eyes. “I _said,_ in any case, I need to switch out my laundry. So I will give you about thirty seconds to cool off, and I will go do that.”

“D’you want me to stop?” Ben asked as Bea stepped lithely down from her spot perched on top of the washers. She shot him a mock-glare over her shoulder.

_“Absolutely_ not. But I need to retain some dignity. Death by Benedick is not how I plan to go.”

“And what a way that would be.” Ben thought for a few moments about Death by Beatrice and felt himself grin like a foppish idiot. He stepped off the washer to follow behind her, leaning against the line of dryers to watch her work. She had decided against leggings and was wearing shorts, and Ben watched her legs in rapt fascination.

“You act like you’ve never seen a woman before,” Bea said, standing upright and slamming her dryer shut (because they needed to be slammed to close properly, not because she was irritated). Ben smirked as he stepped into her space. Bea rolled her eyes up at him even as her hands reached up, skating over his shoulders to twine around his neck. She was laughing warmly up at him when Ben pressed his mouth to hers. It was easy to give himself over to their give-and-take, to lose himself against her soft mouth and warm body, and maybe Bea was right, because he was _definitely_ having thoughts about things that he very much wanted to do to - and with - her that he could not do in this laundry room.

He pulled back. “Many women, but not you.”

“What?” Bea asked. Her eyes were wide and almost dazed, her face red, her lips looking deliciously well-kissed. Ben felt a spike of deep, masculine pride for riling her up so much she forgot her previous statement. He beamed down at her, and she visibly shook herself out of her fugue. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You don’t have to.” Despite the words, Bea was grinning, a laugh in her voice. Ben stepped back and they returned to their spots on the row of washers. He reached for his lukewarm carton of lo mein and slurped up his noodles in a loud, decidedly un-sexy manner. Bea giggled at him.

“I know what you’re trying to do, and I appreciate it. Unfortunately, I still find you attractive.”

“Unfortunate indeed,” Ben agreed. “Will it help if I shotgun that duck sauce?”

“I think I’d just be impressed?” Bea said. “And a bit grossed out.”

“I wanna try it,” Ben said. He reached into the delivery bag, digging around and finding napkins, extra chopsticks, approximately six thousand soy sauce packets, and, finally, a lone paket of neon-orange duck sauce. “Wish me luck, lass.”

“I will do no such thing.”

Ben chortled and tore into the packet with his teeth. Before he stopped to think about it, he clenched the packet in his fist and spurted it into his mouth. It went straight down his windpipe, and he choked. Bea’s loud cackle echoed in the laundry room, and she handed napkins to him and apologized even as she laughed harder when he made a face at her.

Eventually, Ben calmed himself, and Bea recovered enough to actually breathe. She wiped tears from her eyes and flapped her hands at him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for laughing, are you okay?”

“I’ll live, no thanks to you,” Ben said. Bea shook her head and leaned back against the wall, her arm pressed to his. She lay her head against his shoulder and pulled her now-asleep laptop onto her lap. For a few moments, they sat in warm, comfortable silence, Bea’s hand in his and Benedict Cumberbatch stumbling his way through an American accent.

“How did Hero’s meeting go today?” Ben asked. “She met with Lena, right?”

Bea hummed softly. “It went well. She has some ideas. She has no desire to go through the student conduct process again, but she and Lena are going to the school to talk about restorative justice. All Hero wants is an apology and for Lucas to realize he was a prick, not any kind of punishment.”

“She’s a better person than I am,” Ben noted. Bea laughed.

“And I. But we’ve always known that.” She drummed her fingers over the back of Ben’s hand. “I think she’s going to talk to him about this sometime next week, before spring break starts up. Hero wants to get this over with so she can spend the break just relaxing. And she, Margaret, and some friends in the physics program plan to go on a road trip down the coast to check out some grad schools.”

“That makes sense,” Ben said. “Get all the work out of the way so she can focus on her future. Do you know when she hears back from the conduct board?”

Bea held up her fingers to make air quotes. “‘Soon,’ they said. Lena says that can be anywhere from a week to a month.”

“That sounds shitty.”

“Another point for restorative justice,” Bea said. “It’ll take time to set up, of course. They don’t just throw you together in a room and hope for the best. They’ll both talk to a...mediator, it’s not mediation but that’s the word I can think of, and then they’ll do work individually until they’re deemed ready to meet and talk face-to-face. And, of course, Lucas needs to agree to this in the first place.”

“So if he doesn’t agree to it, it’s moot?” Ben asked. Bea nodded. “What if he doesn’t agree?”

Bea shrugged and lay her head against his shoulder. “I’m not sure. That’s up to Hero.”

Her phone buzzed, and she reached for it immediately. Ben saw Hero’s name lighting up the top of the screen, and he looked away lest he read any more. Bea’s nails tapped on the glass screen as she replied, and a few moments later she set it down again.

“She wants to talk about what to say to Lucas,” Bea said. “And she’d appreciate backup for when that talk happens. Would you mind joining us? Buffering between us and Lucas if things get hairy again?”

The memory of the last time they were all together resurfaced, ugly and tense, in Ben’s mind. Lucas’s vitriol. Hero’s anxiety. Bea’s rage.

“Of course,” Ben said. “Pedro will want to be there, too.”

“I think Hero is asking him now,” Bea said. “I think Hero plans to ask him this weekend, so that she can update Lena on their next steps Monday morning.”

“She’s really trying to get this ball rolling,” Ben said. “Good for her.”

“Yeah,” Bea agreed distantly. “But really, I think she just wants this over. She’s so tired of the back and forth and just wants to move on with her life. It’s funny, how looking for accountability also means needing to keep reliving the worst moments.”

She sounded like she didn’t think it was funny at all. Ben closed his eyes, trying not to feel like an asshole. “Yeah. I bet you want it over, too.”

“It’s not about me,” Bea said immediately. She said it softly, like she was reminding herself that. Ben lay his head on top of hers. Her hair was still damp from her shower and smelled like flowers.

“I know it’s _about_ Hero, right now,” he told her softly. “But this hurts you, too. It’s okay to feel both. I can support you while you support her.”

Bea was quiet for a long time. Ben assumed she just wanted to relax and watch the movie, instead of think or talk any more about this like she’d had to near-constantly for the past six months. But after ten minutes or so, she finally spoke.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hmm?” Ben murmured.

“I really like you.”

Ben’s first instinct was to tease; the reply, _oh, really now? I hadn’t noticed_ was on the tip of his tongue. But the tone of her voice - soft and sweet and warm, weighty like she was confessing much more - gave him pause.

Ben turned his head, leaned down to press his lips to Bea’s temple. “I really like you, too.”

~

Ben got the text at 10:30am, which he thought was a bit much. He had no plans to be awake or move at all before eleven o’clock.

Nevertheless, he rolled over in bed to grab his phone. The text from Bea was short and to the point: _This afternoon, 4pm, our apartment._

Ben sighed. She could wake him up far too early and still he smiled to see her name on his phone. _good morning to you, too, lass._

_Sorry, i was sending it to you, pedro, and ktrina,_ Bea replied. _Good morning my darling favorite sexy man, how did you sleep? Xoxoxoxo_ 🥰😜🥰😜

_Perfect,_ Ben replied immediately. _My ego is sated._

_Thank god,_ Bea typed. _So does that work?_

_Yh ofc,_ Ben sent. _I have a group meeting at 2, but I can blow that off/leave early. See you tonight?_

_Yes! Take care_ 😘, Bea texted. Ben grinned and rolled onto his back. He very much would have liked to fall back to sleep, but he had too much work to do to waste the day away. There was his project meeting, and he had solids homework, and a lab report to write up…

Ben groaned to himself and tossed off his blankets. A shower, breakfast, and coffee would do him a world of good. Thirty minutes later he was digging into a plate of eggs and toast and chugging his coffee like the world was ending. He poured himself more coffee in a to-go mug and swung his bag over his back and went to campus.

The day crawled by. The numbers swam on the computer screen and graph paper in front of his eyes, refusing to come into focus. Vaguely he imagined that Bea, Hero, Margaret, and Katherina weren’t doing much better. He wondered where they were: back in the apartment? Somewhere on campus? On their porch, soaking in the first nice days of the spring and coming summer? Ben had stepped outside a few nights ago and saw that Margaret had planted pink and white peonies in a series of plastic planters hanging on their front railing. When he sat on the balcony or opened the sliding glass door in the evenings, the air smelled sweet and floral.

It was a relief when two o’clock finally came around and his teammates arrived. They were nearing the end of their project, which Ben was immensely grateful for. Ben was glad to have an hour and a half to focus on something else, editing the project graphs and planning their presentation poster. Now that Ben and Vera had explained things multiple times and subtly threatened to email their advisor about Conor and Brian skating by, the other two had actually dug in and accomplished a few things. They were also polite to Vera and passably friendly with Ben, which was a pleasant surprise. Ben didn’t comment on it.

At 3:30, his phone buzzed with the alarm he set to make sure he didn’t miss the meeting with Lucas.

“Hot date?” Vera asked, perking her head up and smirking. She had dyed her hair recently, the fading teal turned lavender.

“Hopefully afterwards.” Ben hedged his answer, playing up at being more cheerful than he was as he started putting his things in his bag. It helped to have something to focus on instead of his nerves as his heart started to jump and his stomach churn. “I’ll talk to you all soon. Let me know what work you need me to do. Later!”

He jogged off, waving his hand over his shoulder in farewell. His walk back to the apartment was brisk as he tried to walk as quickly as he could without half-running. From some of the odd, concerned glances students sent him as he went by, it didn’t look like he was succeeding. But he made it to the girls’ apartment with ten minutes to spare, and Hero opened the door almost the second Ben knocked.

“Hey!” she said, a bit too loud and too cheerful. “Ben! Come on in!”

Ben stepped around her into the living room. Margaret was mixing a pitcher of lemonade so she had something to do with her hands, which was never a good sign; Katherina had her nose buried in a book about prison reform, so she was going into this conversation feeling particularly revolutionary; Bea was sitting cross-legged on the couch with her computer in her lap, the only sane woman in a hurricane of emotion. She sent him a small smile.

“So we’re all feeling great, huh?” Ben asked, toeing off his shoes. “Loose and relaxed?”

Hero giggled, a high-pitched, nervous sound, her hands wringing together. Bea sent him a weak smile. Katherina scoffed softly into her book.

“You’re funny, Ben,” she said, turning a page. But Ben saw a little smile on her lips, and he took that as a small victory as he sat down beside Bea. She immediately reached for his hand, twining their fingers together and holding on tight. Ben ran his thumb over her knuckles. Over on her couch, Katherina smirked into her book.

“Shut up,” Bea said to Katherina.

“I am, I am,” Katherina hummed. She looked up when Margaret came over with the pitcher of lemonade. “Margaret, Hero, I’m so sorry you have to live in this gooey shit.”

“It’s been nice, actually,” Hero teased. She was pacing the room, her smile tight. “I like seeing my sister happy. Plus it’s been like having a live soap opera right in front of us.”

“Huh,” Katherina said as she started pouring a glass of lemonade. “Dinner and a show.”

“You both suck,” Bea complained. She glanced at Ben. “D’you know if Pedro is coming?”

“He’s bringing Lucas,” Hero said. “They ran into each other on the way from campus, so Pedro is walking him over. They should be getting here soon.”

And like the proverbial devil, there was a knock on the door. The room went silent, every eye going to Hero. Ben felt bad for staring. He felt like a voyeur, like he was yet another person demanding Hero throw her trauma into the spotlight in order to get the healing she deserved. But Hero only looked around at them all, taking in their stares and nods and encouraging smiles. Then she inhaled deeply, closing her eyes and drawing up her shoulders and chin. She opened them, and Ben saw her eyes gleaming like icy steel. The color was different, but Ben had seen that same expression in Bea’s eyes on many occasions. Seeing it in Hero made him unfathomably proud of her and fond of Bea.

Without another word, Hero approached the door and swung it open. Her hair swayed behind her, waving just past her shoulders. It was tucked back with the same blue headband she wore for the hearing; Ben wondered if it had any significance to her. Those thoughts faded away as Hero opened the door to their guests.

“Lucas,” she greeted. Her voice was still cheerful, still pleasant, but there was an air to it Ben had not heard before. Judging by the way Bea clasped his hand just a bit tighter, he gathered that she hadn’t, either. “Pedro. Come in, thank you for joining us.”

“Yeah, sure,” Pedro said cheerfully. He pecked his cousin on the cheek and strolled in like this were any other day, sitting on the arm of Katherina’s chair. He winked down at her, and she rolled her eyes without heat and nudged him off the armrest to sit on the floor. Pedro accepted the tacit rejection as gracefully as ever and folded his legs beneath himself, pouring a glass of Margaret’s lemonade.

Lucas appeared much more wary as he walked in. He shrugged, taking off his shoes slowly on the welcome mat. “I didn’t have much of a choice, judging by the text you sent.”

Hero smiled. “You did. Please, sit.”

She indicated the lone armchair that was still available. Lucas’s gaze swept over the room, his brow wrinkling in a frown as he saw who was gathered. “This looks like an intervention.”

“That’s certainly a word for it,” Hero said. She sat in her favorite, fluffy dish chair, the neon blue one she bought her freshman year. Ben had seen her curled up in it under a blanket, doing her homework on her laptop, sipping tea or coffee or wine at all hours of the day or night. Now she sat cross-legged in her favorite chair like it was a throne, her fingers interlocked primly together in her lap and settled in the cradle of her folded legs. To the outside observer, she was the pinnacle of poise, with her back straight, her face neutral and calm, her hands in her lap. And she certainly was. But Ben also guessed she was doing that so Lucas wouldn’t see her hands shaking.

And why wouldn’t they? Even Ben felt anxious, his heart racing and stomach flopping and palms going clammy. He remembered the last time they had all been gathered together like this, could still hear the words Lucas spat at her - _how am I supposed to trust you? Why hide it? Did you flirt with him?_

Hero saying, _You don’t believe he assaulted me._

Lucas replying, _No._

Hero took a breath. “The last time we spoke, you said some things that were cruel and hurtful. Since then, you have spread lies and rumors about me, as well as given multiple strangers my personal cell phone number.”

She paused to take a breath. Lucas put in churlishly, “I said what I said. And you can’t prove I’m the one who said anything, so.”

Oh, so this was going to go _great._ Bea’s hand clenched around Ben’s, her nails unknowingly digging into his skin. Katherina inhaled a long breath. Pedro’s eyes were very wide as he took a large sip of lemonade to avoid making a very obvious expression of disdain. He couldn’t hide the way he rolled his eyes, though.

Incredibly, Hero was still smiling. “Oh, we’re not here to debate that. For one, I have multiple screenshots of people saying you were the one who gave them my number, as well as multiple witnesses who can attest to you spreading rumors, so it’s a moot point. No, we’re here to discuss some options for you moving forward.”

Hero reached to the table and passed Lucas a few sheets of paper. Ben could not read what they said, but he could see several sections were annotated with purple highlighter. Lucas muttered, “What the hell?”

“This is a copy of the student code of conduct,” Hero explained. “Obviously. You can read. The highlighted sections are your violations of our Title IX code of conduct. I have already brought my complaint to the school. Moving forward, there are two options: we can try a restorative circle, where we could actually _talk_ about the way that you hurt me and learn from it, or the student conduct process. Which would be long and exhausting for us both and run the risk of punitive measures for you.”

Lucas’s head shot up. “Is this a threat?”

“A conversation,” Hero corrected easily. “Like I said. One of these two things is going to happen. I, personally, would prefer restorative justice. I want to have a conversation. Lucas, you made this year a living _hell_ for me. John assaulted me, but _you_ were the one who refused to believe me, blamed me, shamed me, and spread rumors about me. You gave my contact information to strangers. You damaged my reputation among my department with unfounded stories that _certainly_ at least _made_ it to my professors. You took the stress, embarrassment, and shame that I was already struggling with and made it so much worse. It was ongoing. It’s something I still struggle with.”

Lucas opened his mouth to speak, but Hero held up a single hand. To Ben’s surprise, Lucas’s mouth shut with a snap. Hero went on, “You hurt me. You were vindictive, cruel, and utterly unapologetic about it. I will not allow that to go unaddressed. _How_ that is handled, however, is up to you. I would _like_ to try restorative justice, because I still care for you and want you to _learn_ why what you did was wrong. But if you don’t want to, I will go through that Title IX process all over again and repeat it with you, regardless of your graduation.” Hero spread her hands. Her fingers were steady. “Your choice.”

Ben fought back a whoop. _This_ was the girl who had hid behind her book about stars and legends over Thanksgiving? Who had gone quiet between December and March? Who had stood, pale and powerful, her hands shaking and head held high as she walked into the hearing room?

There was no doubt in Ben’s mind that this girl was Bea’s sister. That Hero was her own woman, who had walked through a hell that was not of her own making and came out singing and swinging anyway.

Lucas was silent for a long minute. He was paging through the printed out sheets of paper, reviewing the places he violated the code of conduct. Finally, he spoke. “You really went through the hearing process?”

“Yes,” Hero said, her tone clipped. “Thursday.”

Lucas scrubbed a hand over his face. “When - when do you hear back?”

Hero paused. Her voice was softer when she admitted, “I’m not sure. Anywhere between a week or a month.”

Lucas nodded, showing that he heard her. He read the papers again, skimming over the pages and the highlighted sections. Softly, he said, “Man. Looks like I really fucked up.”

Ben wasn’t sure if he crushed Bea’s hand, or if Bea’s crushed his. It was Katherina’s turn to take a long sip of her lemonade, though Ben supposed this was more to stop herself from saying something cutting and vulgar; it wasn’t like she had much of a poker face anyway. Margaret had a hand squeezing Pedro’s shoulder where he sat beside her, and Pedro had raised his to hold Margaret’s.

Hero nodded. “Yeah.”

Ben thought back to his months of dating Bea and years of knowing her. How many times had he overheard her rants? How many times had he been on the receiving end of her rambling lectures, been blinded by her brilliance and passion? How different of a man was Ben for listening to her? How much better?

Maybe this was why Hero didn’t want to try the traditional hearing, Ben mused. Maybe she just needed someone that she had once cared for to listen to her and learn from his behavior.

Lucas ran his hands over his face again. “Shit,” he said softly. “I...I guess I did.” He swallowed, his mouth dry. He hadn’t asked for lemonade. In the awkwardness when he entered the apartment, no one had offered. Finally, he nodded. “I - yeah. I’ll do it. The...the restorative thing.”

Hero was very still, her face very calm. “You will?”

Lucas nodded again. He looked like a bobble head, his blond hair flopping over his forehead. For the first time, Ben noticed he looked exhausted, his skin pale and circles under his eyes. By Lucas’s own exacting standards, he was positively unkempt. “Yeah. I’ll do it. Do I need to, like, call someone? Email?”

“I’ll handle it,” Hero told him. “The school will reach out to you about it.”

“Sure.” There was a really long, uncomfortable pause. Lucas swallowed again and stood. “I guess I’ll...see you around? I’ll text you?”

Hero smiled. “I’ll see you around.”

“Right,” Lucas said. He made his way to the door, putting on his shoes. Hero rose as well to close the door behind him. Before he reached for the knob, Lucas turned back around. “Bea?”

Bea’s hand was tight on Ben’s. She responded, “Yeah?”

“Uh,” Lucas started, tipping his weight from foot to foot in their entryway. “I. Um. It looks like I kinda suck. Do you...I dunno, uh, can you like...recommend...stuff to me?”

Bea blinked, looking utterly confused. “‘Recommend stuff?’”

“Yeah. Like...books and stuff,” Lucas said eloquently. “Or a documentary, or something.”

Bea looked utterly confused, but then her head tilted and her eyes went wide in understanding. “You want feminist works recs from me?”

Lucas rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess. Yeah.”

Bea’s brows were two high, dark arcs on her forehead. She glanced between Hero, Katherina, and Margaret. Finally, she said, “I can throw something together.”

“Cool. Uh, thanks.” He stepped to the door. “Bye.”

There really wasn’t much else to do or say. Lucas opened the door, stepped out. Hero shut and locked it behind him. She turned around, leaning her back against the wood. She met her sister’s eye.

“Did that...go _well?”_ She asked, astounded.

“I think so,” Bea said.

Her hand was ripped from his, and Bea flew across the room, tightly winding her arms around Hero. Ben could see Hero’s carefully-crafted facade crumbling, her face wrinkling like paper and her hands starting to shake. Bea was holding her tightly and carefully, stroking her hair and saying, _you did so good, you’re so amazing, I love you so much, I’m so proud of you._

Margaret held her, too, and even Katherina was persuaded to join this group hug. Out of the corner of his eye, Ben saw Pedro wiping tears from his face, too.

“Dude, why are you crying?” Ben asked. “I mean, I’m emotional, too, but…”

“I’m _Latino,”_ Pedro said, sniffing loudly. He reached for a nearby box of tissues and blew his nose, if possible, even louder. “I’m just _like this,_ man.”

“You sound like a dad,” Ben said. Pedro shot him a glare, and Ben sighed. He scooted across the empty couch to pat Pedro on his back. “There, there, man. She did real damn well.”

“I’m so proud,” Pedro said. He blew his nose again, loud enough to echo, and the four girls turned to him.

“Are you okay?” Katherina asked. “Like, cry all you want, but that can’t be normal. Do you need an ENT?”

“He’s always done that,” Bea said.

“That doesn’t make it better,” Margaret said. “Cry all you need, _pobrecito.”_

Pedro shook his head and blew his nose again. Margaret and Katherina started talking about dinner, the efficacy of cooking versus just ordering in. Hero smiled and let her tears soak into her sister’s t-shirt. Over her shoulder, Bea smiled at Ben and silently raised her eyes skyward in the universal prayer for patience.

Ben grinned back.

~

The last week before spring break flew by in a haze of midterms Ben had half-forgotten before pulling two all-nighters. Bea teased him for it several times until her own slam of papers and the latest round of her thesis review knocked her on her ass, too. They spent some nights together in the library, bitching and keeping each other company and focused until Bea grew truly desperate and vanished into the stacks to do some kind of feminist witchcraft and conjure three essays.

Meanwhile, Hero and Margaret were busy eagerly planning their road trip down the coast for spring break. They would be borrowing Bea’s car, which she constantly expressed concern about just to mess with Hero, who eventually just hit Bea with a pillow telling her to shut her up, she knew how to _drive,_ thanks. It distracted from the way Hero’s anxiety seemed to increase daily as she awaited an email from the conduct board with their results. The topic hung over their heads like a cloud of fog, oppressive and heavy.

Spring break finally came. Saturday morning dawned bright and sunny, and because it was the weekend and break and he had done two all-nights in the past five days Ben did not see it. He did not wake up until almost one o’clock, and even then he lounged around in bed until two. He only got up when his need for the bathroom and coffee overpowered his exhaustion.

Ben had no plans for break; his closest thing to it was a desire to hang out and maybe do a little work. He should also probably start applying for jobs post-graduation, which was going to feel a lot closer come the other side of this week. Pedro was ahead of him in that regard, applying for jobs back in New York City, so he was home for the break. Bea wanted to use the break to hone her paper, which she still planned to send to Stanford as if they might rescind her acceptance. One of her professors also mentioned a conference coming up that she thought Bea could present at, so now Bea was stressing over her proposal for _that,_ too.

Oh, well. They would see each other tonight, most likely. Ben planned to find her and drag her to the main street of Messina’s college town for dinner and some drinks, just to get her out of the house and make her actually enjoy herself.

So Ben whiled away the day hanging out and playing video games, and once the sun was no longer shining directly onto their balcony, Ben decided to move his happy ass out there to soak in the last of the day’s rays. He was only there for a few minutes before the sliding glass panel on the neighboring balcony opened, too.

Ben glanced up from his spot, grinning. “Hey there, lass.”

“Hey,” Bea said. She was a vision in her loose t-shirt and shorts, her hair pulled high into a ponytail and sunglasses on her face. “Did you finally wake up?”

Ben pouted, protesting the tease with, “I’ve been up a while, I’ll have you know! I just wanted to, you know, _enjoy_ my first day of vacation.”

“Mm-hmm,” Bea said. She sat in one of the lawn chairs on the balcony, stretching her legs out and resting her heels on the iron railing. Ben was unashamed to admit that he completely missed anything Bea said after that, because her legs were long and her skin was smooth and he just remembered that they _both_ had their apartments _all to themselves_ for a _week._

But before he could say anything, Bea had turned to her book in her lap and was reading, so Ben simply shook his head with a fond, private smile and went back to playing a mobile game on his phone. They sat together in companionable silence for nearly an hour until the quiet was broken by the sound of Bea’s phone ringing.

Bea picked up. “Hero, if you’re telling me you _already_ crashed my car, I will -” she stopped. Ben could hear Hero yelling something unintelligible even from his position. Whatever it was made Bea sit up straight, her legs going flat to the balcony stone and her book sliding off of her lap to fall at her feet in a heap of wrinkled pages. _“What?”_

More shouting. Bea’s mouth was open. “Hero, you - that’s amazing, I’m _so glad,_ we’ll celebrate when you - yeah - yeah, of course...okay...okay, yes, definitely call mom and dad, I’ll talk to you soon...yes, please forward it to me...ugh, Lena’s amazing, good for her, let’s buy her a gift card or something, do you think they take that? Okay. ‘Kay. I love you too. And Hero?” Ben watched as Bea swallowed, her lower lip shaking. “I’m really, really proud of you.” Another pause. “Buh-bye.”

Bea hung up the phone. She lowered it to her lap, staring at the blinking screen. The call hadn’t even lasted two minutes.

“Bea?” Ben asked. He stood up, putting his phone in his pocket. “Lass? You alright?”

Bea peered up at him. Ben wished he could see her expression behind her big sunglasses.

Bea said, “Hero got the hearing results. John was found responsible.”

Ben blinked. Then it felt like his insides exploded, his grin cracking across his face and his stomach feeling like he had eaten a bunch of pop rox. “Bea! Bea, that’s great!”

“I know!” Bea shouted. She leapt to her feet and did an absolutely adorable little celebratory dance. She even punched the air and everything, too. “Apparently they sent it out late last night to Lena, and she saw it when she checked her email this morning, and she forwarded it to Hero even though she wasn’t working because she wanted to make sure Hero knew as soon as possible! Hero just got it now because they took a break from driving to eat and get gas. He’s responsible, and will be on academic probation for the next year, and he needs to write an apology letter and take some classes. Not sure how good that letter or those classes will be, _but!”_ Bea laughed, high and carefree and delighted. “It’s over. It’s done!”

Ben beamed down at her. At his girlfriend, who looked like she was finally coming back to life right before his eyes. Something about seeing her sister vindicated seemed to leave Bea feeling so, too. She looked delighted and relaxed and _happy_ and Ben adored her, he _adored_ this woman.

“Bea,” he said, leaning towards her from across the balcony. “Lass, that’s great, we should celebrate -”

Bea cut him off by reaching across the balcony rails, one hand supporting her on the railing and the other catching Ben’s collar, and kissing him full on the mouth. It was a little off-center, Bea’s teeth mashing against his from her quick movement, but it was only the work of a few moments to put them to rights. Ben trailed a hand up her arm, cradling her jaw in his palm and tilting her face so he could kiss her sweetly, deeply. The other went to the railing to balance him lest he tumble to his death four flights down.

They stood like that for a long time, it seemed: holding each other, being held, kissing across their balconies like if Romeo had gotten it right. They only parted when a series of jeers and catcalls from the street below shouted at them to get a room, though a few people whooped in support of this display of young love. Ben would take it.

Bea pulled back, her face flushed a gorgeous pink and her hazel eyes sparkling up at him. Goddamn _sparkling._ What a woman. Ben was sunk.

“Do you want to come over?” Bea asked.

“You had me at ‘do you want to come,’” Ben told her as he considered the railing situation. Bea laughed and groaned simultaneously at his joke.

“You’re gross! That’s the goal, but when you say it like that it ruins any preemptive mood - oh my _God,_ Ben, what are you doing?”

Ben peered at her from where he had slung one leg over the railing. “I’m performing a big romantic gesture? Obviously?”

“You’re _performing_ a death wish,” Bea told him, clearly trying not to laugh. “Those look so rickety, please don’t fall and splatter to your death _now -”_

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Ben said. He stretched one leg across the short space between their balconies, trying not to focus too much on the ground forty feet below. It would _really_ suck to die right now, half-hard and about ten minutes away from _finally_ sleeping with Bea. He moved both his feet to Bea’s balcony and slung one leg, then another over the iron rails. His foot kicked at a pail of Margaret’s gardening supplies, and a set of garden shears and a spray bottle ricocheted across the stone.

“Okay, maybe that was a _bit_ romantic,” Bea said. Ben grinned down at her but, instead of replying, he strode toward her like a man on a mission.

He caught her face in his hands, cupping her cheeks between his palms and kissing her. She hummed appreciatively against his mouth, meeting his hot, probing kisses with equal fervor. He walked her back until she met the glass door into her apartment, trapping her between the panel and the lines of his body. Bea reached up, her hands running over his back and through his hair. Her nails scraped his scalp. She bit at his lip, hard enough he jumped, pulling it into her mouth and sliding her tongue over his.

Ben pulled back, ran his mouth down her jaw. “You’re playin’ dirty, lass.”

Bea went to say something that came out hazy and unintelligible as Ben found that spot just below her ear that made her knees go weak. Ben smirked at the sound, at how he could feel her skin going hot under his touch, at how she reacted to a few kisses and his voice going low and sultry, his accent thick and sweet. It left him feeling proud and masculine and _sexy._

“But ‘s alright,” Ben assured her, kissing his way back to her mouth. “I can play dirty, too.”

Encouraged by the way Bea pressed herself against him, he slid his hands under her shirt, fingers skating over hot, smooth skin. Boldly, he slid his knee between her legs, swallowed the gasping moan that escaped her lips -

_“HEY, GET A ROOM!”_

Ben jerked back at the shout, bellowed by a passing couple below. Bea blushed scarlet, but before Ben could apologize, she laughed again. She reached down to his hand, sliding her fingers between his. She pulled him into the apartment with her, shutting the door and kissing him again.

“This alright?” She asked breathlessly. She tugged the ponytail holder out and shook out her long hair.

Ben stared at her. Her hair was wild, stray curls glowing auburn in the light. Her freckles over her face and cheeks and neck painted him a roadmap of all the places on her body he needed to stop. The red marks already blossoming on her neck already showed him what he needed to revisit.

“Oh, lass,” Ben purred, stepping toward her. “This is _more_ than alright.”

He allowed Bea to guide him into the bedroom, and for a long time, they didn’t say anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!!! the epilogue is next!!
> 
> a few notes:   
\- hero probably wouldn't be able to do that cool smackdown with lucas in real life, especially with the new title ix regs, but in fanfic land you can do whatever you want!  
\- i may put up some actual bea/ben sexytimes in the _there's a skirmish of wit_ fic, if people are cool with that? lmk.
> 
> as always, please utilize any of the following resources if you need! they are all still available during this Quarantine.  
national domestic violence hotline (us): https://www.thehotline.org/  
national teen dating hotline (us): https://www.loveisrespect.org/  
national sexual assault hotline/RAINN (us): https://www.rainn.org/  
national domestic violence hotline (uk): http://www.nationaldomesticviolencehelpline.org.uk/
> 
> if you want to drop me a line, i can be found on my blog at notantherwritingblog.tumblr.com! thank you for reading!


	25. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> endings just mean more beginnings. 
> 
> or, as the bard said, all's well that ends well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so deeply emotional. thank you, thank you all so much!!! to every reader, every reviewer, every person who left a comment or a kudos, for everyone who felt something from this fic - thank you for reading and sharing with me. to every survivor who read this, this was for you. to everyone who learned how to be just a little kinder, just a little more supportive from this fic, this was for you. thank you, from the bottom of my heart. be well. enjoy. 💖💖💖

## 

Epilogue.

“Okay, so…” Bea said, sweeping her hair out of her face. She needed to turn on the air conditioning. Wait - there was no air conditioning. She grimaced, digging her phone out of her pocket to add _window AC unit?_ to her already-too-long shopping list. She started pointing around the room. “I’m picturing the bed _here,_ and the desk _there,_ and my bookshelf…?”

“Do you even need your bookshelf in here?” Ben asked, panting slightly as he set down the box of clothes beside her. He reached up to palm the sweat off of his forehead, his shirt rising and treating Bea to a strip of sun-tanned skin. “You and the others are going to have a full library, I’m sure. Might as well put it downstairs. There’s more room there than here.”

“True,” Bea conceded. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she pulled it out. Hero had sent her a picture of a truly hideous red-and-white bedding set, captioned, _what do you think? mom loves it bc ‘stanford colors’ but we bth know it’s vile._

Bea texted back, _it looks like someone murdered jackson pollock in the middle of painting that? please no._

Hero replied immediately. _lmao nice one. kk i saved you, back to shopping._

Bea smiled at her phone before pocketing it. She peered around the room: it was smaller than the other bedrooms in the house, but considering Bea would not be sharing with a significant other, she could handle a little less space. She could hear two of her new roommates, Olivia and Viola, bickering cheerfully as they carried in their approximately eight hundred boxes of clothing; Hippolyta (“Hippo,” the girl had said to Bea earlier that day, looking at her as if she dared Bea to comment) hanging up assorted flags and posters across the hall; the two remaining rooms sitting empty, awaiting their occupants. Ophelia was delayed on her flight over from London, where she had spent the summer interning at the United Nations, and Isabella was still wrapping up her summer internship at the National Women’s Law Center in DC.

So, no pressure to impress, or anything.

She felt Ben lean his chin on her shoulder, grounding her before the anxiety could start to spike. “It’ll be alright, lass.”

“I know,” Bea said. She knocked her head against his. “I’ll miss you.”

Ben chuckled. “Why? I’m just across town.”

That was true. Ben had found a job working for a little start-up in San Francisco, a sentence that Ben claimed _immediately_ gave him hives, but it was for a green energy company that was probably going to save the world, so he could live with it. Bea still felt bad some days that they were both living so close together, spending so much on rent, until Ben reminded her that his new job paid well enough for his little one-bedroom and they both agreed they weren’t ready to move in together yet, anyway. It hadn’t even been a year.

Bea sighed. “I’ll miss Hero.”

Her sister, who had made leaps and bounds with her therapy that summer. Bea had decided not to work and allowed herself a summer of rest and relaxation before the next five years of getting her PhD knocked her on her ass. Aside from presenting her senior thesis at a conference in Seattle, Bea had done nothing more mentally strenuous or emotionally taxing than finally play her way through the _Resident Evil_ franchise. And beside her through all of it was her sister.

Ben pecked her on the temple. “She’s just a phone call away.”

Bea sighed, nodding. “I know.”

They stood together for another few moments, Ben pressed to her side even if it was _way_ too warm for this.

“There’s only another few boxes in the car,” Ben told her. “How about I grab them, and you can start unpacking? And lass, I’m begging you, open a window.”

“Sure thing,” Bea said, still deep in thought about her organization and panicking at the ceaseless passage of time. Her sister was going to be a senior; she had graduated college and was getting her PhD at _Stanford,_ holy _shit._ “Thanks, babe. Love you.”

She didn’t even realize what she had said until he was already long gone, and then her eyes went wide and her heart raced because she had just told Ben, her boyfriend, that _she loved him_ for the first time when they were standing in her empty bedroom, covered in dust and sweat. She hadn’t even looked him in the _eye._

“Fuck,” Bea mumbled. Then, louder, she said, “Fuck! Shit!”

She kept swearing to herself as she started digging into her packed clothes, pulling out her summer things and placing them in her drawers. Anything heavier than a pair of jeans or a light jacket was shoved under her bed, which sat naked and awaiting new sheets and, hopefully, a bedding set that did not look like a crime scene.

Through it all, Bea waited anxiously, terrified that Ben would come back and - what? It would be fine. It’s not like he would think Bea was coming on too strong and dump her and decide he hated her.

But anxiety was still such a _bitch._

Finally, Ben arrived back upstairs, balancing two boxes atop each other and bearing two cold water bottles.

“For you,” Ben said, handing her one. Bea accepted it and held it to the back of her flushed, sweaty neck. Ben cracked open the lid and chugged half of it in three gulps.

“Where did you get these?” Bea asked.

“Viola downstairs offered them,” Ben said baldly. “Came on pretty strong. You might have competition.”

Bea snorted, picturing Viola, who was, perhaps, the most butch lesbian she had ever met. On the other end of the spectrum was Olivia, her girlfriend, who was perhaps the most _femme_ lesbian she had ever met. She couldn’t wait to get to know them better. Hippo seemed intense, but Bea was pretty sure all political science grad students were like that. And though they hadn't spoken much beyond a sporadic few texts, Bea had looked up her other new roommates online and saw that Ophelia was a beautiful, willowy woman who had lived all over Europe and Bella was a short, chubby woman who grew up in inner city Baltimore.

Classes started in five days. Bea was anxious and thrilled for this next chapter of her life to start.

“I trust you,” Bea said. “Thanks for this.”

“Anytime, lass,” Ben said. Bea opened the water bottle, tilting it to her lips and drinking.

And because he was a shit, Ben decided that was the perfect moment to say, “I love you, too, Bea.”

When Hero and her mother found them five minutes later, both Bea and Ben were soaking wet, as if they had decided to pour two water bottles on each other, and laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's all, folks!!! again, thank you so much for reading this! 💖💖💖
> 
> a few parting notes: 
> 
> \- Olivia and Viola are from _Twelfth Night;_ Hippolyta, _A Midsummer Night's Dream;_ Ophelia, _Hamlet;_ and Isabella, _Measure for Measure._  
\- if people are still interested in reading extra scenes, potential AUs (👀), or that piece about katherina, be sure to subscribe to _there's a skirmish of work between them!_ anything more i post in this universe will be there.  
\- i made a spotify playlist for this fic! you can see it here: https://spoti.fi/2Z5JhRM  
\- if you or anyone you know likes the fullemtal alchemist: brotherhood fandom and/or you want to know where the hell i've been for 4 months (sorry), please go over and check out my fmab fics! 
> 
> as always, please utilize any of the following resources if you need! they are all still available during this Quarantine.  
national domestic violence hotline (us): https://www.thehotline.org/  
national teen dating hotline (us): https://www.loveisrespect.org/  
national sexual assault hotline/RAINN (us): https://www.rainn.org/  
national domestic violence hotline (uk): http://www.nationaldomesticviolencehelpline.org.uk/
> 
> if you want to drop me a line, i can be found on my blog at notantherwritingblog.tumblr.com! thank you for reading!


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